


taking the hamptons

by ont



Series: mockingbird [20]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Class Issues, Discussion of Abortion, Drug Use, Kidfic, M/M, Marital Drama, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Parental Estrangement, canon compliant... kind of, exes flirting with each other, gossip girl antics, lots of marijuana to cope, louis parenting every lost child he finds, medical crisis, mpreg (past), parenting, rich people being evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ont/pseuds/ont
Summary: Ex-husbands Louis and Zayn reluctantly head to the Hamptons to meet with their new in-laws following their son's surprise elopement. (sliding doors verse)
Relationships: Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson (past)
Series: mockingbird [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/499807
Comments: 37
Kudos: 53





	taking the hamptons

SINGAPORE, MARCH 11, 2015

Their Asian leg tour buses are waiting for them after their show, idling in the parking lot of the Changi airport. It’s apparently the most beautiful airport in the world, but Zayn has no idea, because he’s only ever seen it through sleepy eyes while being shuttled back and forth in the pitch black night or pitch black early morning.

Tonight is the same. Every night is the same. He’s pushed onto stage for 30,000 screaming people, the lights blind him, the noise blinds him, he’s stumbling around half-deaf from the in-ears and tinnitus, almost getting rotisseried by pyrotechnics. By the end of the night every bone and muscle in his malnourished body aches.

But a couple things are different tonight. First thing is, he had a little bit of lean with their opening act backstage, and he’s feeling, if not good, at least better than usual. And second, Louis is in top form when it comes to distracting him. Louis teases him wonderfully, flitting around him with a bright smile and brighter eyes, flashing teeth, whispering sweetly in his ear and brushing his round arse against Zayn whenever he gets the chance. Zayn spends the night forgetting lyrics and forgetting where he’s supposed to be, but he keeps constant tabs on Louis, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Zayn can tell that Louis feels his eyes on him, that he knows he’s watching. He sways his hips when he walks, flexes the muscles in his biceps, plays with his own hair. A few times he sneaks Zayn a look and licks his lips, brushes his hand against the front of his own trousers.

They quietly slip out to take a car back to their bus while Liam, Harry and Niall are still hanging out backstage. The partition goes up, the thumping music goes on. They don’t fuck back there, but they get close, snogging so passionately that their rock-hard cocks are rubbing against each other’s stomachs and thighs, groping each other with such mindless abandon that their clothes are nearly off by the time they get to the airport.

“I’m’nna fuck the shit outta you on that bus,” Zayn mumbles in his ear as he humps him.

“God, I want you to, I want you inside me so bad.”

“I could fuck your pretty little hole for hours. I’m gonna live in there… gonna move in…”

“Do it,” Louis moans.

“I’m not gonna be gentle with you, tonight.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“Good.”

“One second,” Louis calls in a hoarse voice when the driver knocks on the partition, wiping his spit-smeared mouth and zipping his fly back up. Zayn sighs in frustration, then smooths his hair with quick swipes of his hands and pulls his jacket back on. They both tuck their erections into their waistbands; there might be paps lurking.

They’re escorted into the brisk night by security guys, trailing them as they walk to the tour bus, bumping shoulders with each other and sharing horny little smiles as they talk about dumb, regular bro shit to hide the fact that they’re waiting to fuck. Louis dances out ahead of him for a moment, gamboling in the cool air, and Zayn stares at him so hungrily it’s like he might never see him again.

Once on the bus they practically shove each other down the hallway, dropping their jackets on the floor, then collapse onto the master bed when they finally get to it. Zayn yanks his t-shirt off over his head and easily wriggles out of his skinny jeans, tossing them to the side. Louis is doing the same, and then when he’s in his briefs he sits there on the edge of the bed, looking attractively mussed and uncharacteristically shy. Zayn leans down and bites the fleshy part of his thigh, then nuzzles his cock where it’s bunched in his undies, dragging in a lungful of the salty smell of him.

“Zayn,” Louis moans softly, reaching up to run his hand hard through Zayn’s hair. His fingers feel lovely on his scalp.

“C’mere,” Zayn growls, throwing him back onto the bed and rolling him roughly over onto his front. “You’ve been torturin’ me all night...”

“I’ve been torturin’ _you_? You’re the one who couldn’t stop starin’ a hole in me.”

“You were askin’ for it, tease, walking around like you do.”

“How do I walk around?” Louis coos.

“Like you want a train ran on you.”

In response, Louis arches his back with his arse in the air. Zayn yanks his briefs down to his thighs and slaps one bare cheek, his pendant swinging from his neck.

“Wot, you like that, slut?” Zayn says, delighted.

Louis really does walk around like that, though, like a cat in heat. It’s something probably only alphas would be sex-crazed enough to pick up on — which is why, after they’d all known each other a while, Zayn had asked Liam, “Hey, does Louis sort of act like he, er… _wants it_ all the time?” Liam just said “Yes,” and hastily changed the subject. Zayn had chalked this behavior up to daddy issues and carried on with his life, right up until Louis had seduced him and ridden him raw on his hotel room floor back in January. Zayn can still remember that sex like it was last night — the hotel room carpet scraping his lower back; the crazy, explosive orgasm he had from finally getting a release after six years of being teased by Louis without getting to fuck him.

Louis moans again, louder, without a word in it. Zayn smacks him again, because he likes the way his bum feels and the sound it makes when slapped.

Every interaction they have these days is tainted for Zayn by his knowledge that he’s leaving, that he has to leave. He isn’t sure when, but soon. Probably during their next tour break. And Louis will never forgive him, not really, not unless he figures out a way to make it okay, and he can’t think of one no matter how hard he racks his brain. So he has to just enjoy these little moments. He wants to remember for the rest of his life what it sounded like to smack Louis’ perky twenty-three year old arse in the relative quiet of a tour bus bedroom, quiet except for the rumbling engine underneath them, the driver coughing down the hall and the security guys talking unintelligibly outside.

“Condom?” Louis says, his voice still strained and low from how hard he is.

“Nah.” He does have a condom in his wallet, but he never has any idea where his wallet is. They aren’t allowed to carry their own wallets on tour. “I’ll nut on your back.”

“Alright.”

Zayn does him doggy right there, with the crappy sheets twisting under them. He grips Louis’ hair for purchase as he slams in and out of him, expecting for it at some point to become too much, for Louis to ask him to let up on the pace or switch positions, but Louis surprises him. Maybe sometimes all he wants is to be grabbed by the hair and forced facedown and pounded into the bed. He moans Zayn’s name some more, making it hard for Zayn to keep his erection from peaking. Louis has the best moans. He doesn’t hold back at all, and puts everything into them: whines, sighs, swears. He makes Zayn’s name sound like it has twenty vowels in it and is also the foulest curse word imaginable.

His pendant swings as he fucks Louis, bouncing off his chest. Zayn feels so good and so hard that he’s struck by a helpless melancholy at the idea of stopping. It feels like the last day of summer before school starts again. Can’t he live here in Louis, forever?

Zayn bends over him, the pendant pressed between them, kissing the bone at the nape of his neck and then sucking gently at the skin of his throat. Louis’ fingers tighten where they’re gripping the sheets, and he moans some more.

“Yes, yes, God,” he exhales, coughing on spit and then hiccuping. “Fuck, I just came.”

Zayn grips his hair harder, squeezing it in his fist, tight enough that Louis is forced to tilt his head up. “Really?” he says gutturally. “Already?”

“Yeah,” Louis sighs. “God, that was good.”

Zayn slides out of Louis and rolls him over, and sure enough, he’s got come all over himself and a soft willy. Zayn slides back in roughly, and Louis’ eyes absolutely light up. He slings his arms around Zayn’s neck and presses their foreheads together.

“You’re too much,” Zayn pants, fucking him hard again. “Fuck you. God, you just do me fucking head in.”

Louis wraps his legs around him, bringing him in as deep as he can get, then claws his short nails hard down Zayn’s back. “Am I?” he coos. “Am I too much for you?”

All Zayn can do is moan in defeat and try not to come. He only remembers he has to pull out at the last second — the _very_ last second — but he’s quite good at that, and he very skillfully empties his load on Louis’ stomach where Louis’ own come is already drying. He wipes most of it off with a used paper towel on the bedside table before lying down to cuddle Louis, who’s inert and practically boneless from orgasm. But he perks up when Zayn’s arms wrap around him, and he snuggles into his chest, pressing a tender kiss to his collarbone. Zayn cradles a hand to the back of Louis’ head, stroking the delicate curve of his skull, feeling where the hair above the nape of his neck is damp and hot with sweat close to his scalp.

The sex was so good tonight that Zayn keeps finding himself about to say “I love you.” What the fuck is wrong with him? That isn’t what he wants to say. Well, it sort of is, in a brotherly way, but this isn’t an appropriate time for brotherly love. What he really wants to say is “thank you for being such a great receptacle for my dick,” which is not something you should say to anyone, much less a brother. So instead of saying anything, he just kisses Louis on the forehead.

“Alright?” Louis says, cracking a smile. “You came pretty fast.”

“I know you know you got good walls,” Zayn says, his voice low. “Don’t be a little prick about it.”

“I want more,” Louis mumbles, finding his lips and kissing him hard, biting at them. “I want round two.”

“Okay,” Zayn says eagerly. He might run into his problem with staying hard if they try to go again so soon, but dwelling on that will just psych him out and guarantee he does. “Me too.”

“Maybe once the buses are on the road, though. I worry about the other boys walkin’ in…”

Zayn kisses Louis back, pushing his tongue into his mouth. Louis makes a delicious little soft sound and arches against Zayn, pushing his knee between his thighs.

Zayn envelops him like an octopus, wrapping Louis’ warm body up in his arms, holding him tight and nosing at his hair. “Hi,” he exhales.

Louis nuzzles his neck, his breath hot on Zayn’s throat. “Wanna smoke?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Louis grabs one of their fat pre-rolls off the bedside table, and they smoke it while cuddling, gently passing the blunt back and forth between each other’s mouths, blowing smoke in each other’s faces. The weed mingles with the lean in Zayn’s system, giving him a tickly, sleepy feeling. They finish two joints quickly and then tongue kiss for a while, arms wrapped around each other, stroking each other’s backs.

Time and time again, Zayn is surprised at what a hot lay Louis turned out to be. He’s flirted with him plenty over the years, touched him plenty, been interested in someday fucking him just to find out what it was like, but he never thought their chemistry would be this good. He’s been in a constant state of surprise ever since Louis pushed him down on the floor of that hotel room and rode him into oblivion for the first time.

“I wish we could film it,” Zayn murmurs.

“I do too,” Louis says. “Can you imagine, though? If that got leaked?”

“Give _The Sun_ somethin’ to write about.”

“‘Cos they don’t have enough already?” Louis nuzzles him, kissing his upper lip and his philtrum and brow bone.

Zayn slides his hands up Louis’ back and brings him closer, pressing his nose to his temple so he can smell his sweat. Louis searches needily for his mouth and snogs him some more, wet and with tongue. Zayn kisses him back, feeling tender toward him, while also wanting to come on his face.

They’re interrupted by a hard knock on the bus door down the hall.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice calls. “Zayn? You in there?”

“Fuck,” Zayn says, bolting into a sitting position. Louis looks at him wide-eyed, clutching at his own bare shoulders. “Shit, I’m too high to deal with Harry.”

“You ‘ave to go answer him, though, I’m covered in come.”

“Wot, seriously?”

“Zayn, c’mon. I reek, I smell like bleach.”

“Alright, hang on...” Zayn pulls Louis’ sweatshirt on, appreciating the sight of Louis lounging lazy, naked and come-splattered in the sheets with a joint between his fingers. He pulls his jeans on over his bare arse and stands up, wiggling into them. “What d’you reckon he wants?”

Louis shrugs. “No idea.”

Zayn coughs hard into his sleeve and then gets up, heading down the hall. The light is on in the bathroom; he can hear the bus driver taking an excruciatingly long piss.

Harry raps his knuckles on the door again, right as Zayn reaches down to open it. Annoyed, Zayn fixes him with a look. “What?”

“What d’you mean, _what?_ ” Harry says. “Everyone’s been wondering where you two are. You left without saying anything, and you’re not answering texts.”

“We’re right here. On the bus. We came back early.”

“Fine,” Harry says, looking equally annoyed. “Just give someone a heads up next time. No one knew where you went.”

“Security knew where we were.”

“Not the guys at the venue who you gave the slip to. They just knew you’d gone off, but they couldn’t say if you’d gone to a bar or back to the buses. I just wanted to make sure we could all leave on time.”

He’s being even more of a pain in the arse than he normally is, for some reason. “Why didn’t Liam come check?”

“My bus is right next to yours,” Harry says evenly. “Seemed easiest.”

“Right.”

“So we’re leaving in five, then, now that you’re accounted for. If Louis is still with you?”

“Yeah, he’s wiv me.”

Harry eyes him up and down, with that look Zayn hates. It’s a look that communicates simultaneously that he has the moral high ground, that he finds your hedonism repulsive, but also that he fancies himself so cool and as having done so much worse that he thinks of you as no more than a child acting out. It makes Zayn want to reach out and twist one of his nipples.

“You smell like sex,” Harry says, his eyes owlish in the darkness. “For your information.”

Great — he might as well have made Louis answer the door. He is glad to know it’s jealousy that’s making Harry cop this attitude, though. It’s a relief to know he even still gives half a shit.

Zayn’s high brain fumbles for a plausible excuse why he’d stink of sex from hanging out on a bus he’s sharing with Louis; he manages, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I ‘ad someone back after the show while Louis went for smokes. But they’re gone, it’s just me and him now.”

Harry hits him with another stare that makes him overly aware of his buzzing lips and the scratches up his back, then snorts. “Still engaged, are you?”

“Alright… g’night, bruv.”

“I dunno why I came looking,” Harry says. “Dunno why I even bother worrying about either of you. Maybe I should cut that feeling off for good.”

“Yeah, alright, fuckin’ psycho,” Zayn says, furious suddenly. The simmering anger that lives under the surface of his skin all the time now jumps out, invigorating him, boiling his blood. “Just cut your feelings off dead. ‘Cos that’s how normal people react to things.”

Harry shakes his head and starts off back down the stairs, striding away through the dark parking lot, security guys lighting on him like flies. “Get your shit together, Zayn,” he shouts over his shoulder. “You’re acting pathetic.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn shouts back at him.

“You smell like weed, too, by the way, you fucking pothead.”

“Why don’t you go smoke some yourself,” Zayn screams. “Maybe you’d loosen up, tightarse!”

Harry gives him the finger without looking back.

None of the security or handlers in earshot of this react in any way. He almost wishes they would. It’s so inhuman of them to stand around pretending they can’t hear anything. It’s absurd that bodymen and drivers have lately been listening to him and Louis fuck for up to an hour at a time, beds slamming walls, both of them moaning like crazy, and when Zayn emerges these guys just look at him with the same neutral facial expression as always. Be a person, he wants to demand of them.

Zayn makes his way back through the bus, stumbling a little in the dark, grabbing onto counters and the edges of bunks. He takes deep breaths until the dizzy fury in his head starts to subside, like soda going flat.

In the bedroom, the overhead light is still on, illuminating Louis’ tattooed body on the bed. He’s lying naked on his stomach, his feet kicked up in the air, looking at his phone.

Zayn walks over and slaps him hard on the arse for probably the tenth time that night. Louis starts a little, but smiles.

“What did Harry want?” he says.

“To be a cunt.” Zayn lies down with Louis and rolls him over onto his back, kissing him again, shoving his tongue into Louis’ mouth and tasting his sweet taste. Louis happily opens his mouth wider and hooks a leg around Zayn. “Just stared at me mostly.”

Louis laughs. “He’s scary when he stares, ain’t he?”

“He is.”

“Halfway between your mum when you’ve disappointed her and, like, an alien that wants to steal your skin. Proper terrifying person, honestly.”

Zayn laughs, then draws back and starts sucking his neck. He can feel gooseflesh rising on Louis’ skin as he touches him, and it’s turning him on. “I want round two,” he mumbles. “I wanna fuck you again. I’m gettin’ hard for you again.”

Louis sighs happily and tips his head back. “We really should go get condoms,” he says.

“Nah, c’mon, I’ve got good reflexes.” He wraps his arms around Louis’ warm, lean body, rubbing his hands over his back and then wrapping them around the dip of his waist. “Lemme back in there, yeah? I wanna be in there so bad.”

A grin splits Louis’ face. “You don’t wanna play FIFA?”

“What am I, twelve? No, I wanna fuck, baby. C’mon, Tommo, quit teasin’ me.” Zayn rubs his stiffening cock on Louis’ thigh. “Feel ‘at. Feel what you’re doin’ to me.” He gropes at his bum, rubbing a finger against his wet arsehole as he squeezes and rubs the cheeks.

“Alright,” Louis says, laughing hard. “Yeah, yeah, round two then, let’s go.”

“Yeah?”

Louis looks at him with a sort of cross-eyed, besotted look. “Yeah,” he says, putting a husky whine in his voice.

“Oh, fuck off,” Zayn groans.

“I’m gonna ride you this time, though.”

“Fuckin’ good, do some work for once.”

Louis laughs. “I’m not the one who was forgetting lyrics all night, mate.”

“Yeah, you were! The both of us were!”

“Nah, you were on another planet.”

Zayn worries at his lip with his teeth, shrugging against the bed.

“You seem like you’re feeling a little better overall, though,” Louis murmurs, reaching up to push his hair back from his forehead.

“Tonight I am,” he murmurs back. “Especially now.”

Louis’ eyes roam his face. “‘Cos of me?”

“Yeah, ‘cos of you. What else?”

“Dunno. The lean?”

“The lean helped. You help more.”

“Yeah?”

“God, yeah. I’m in the worst mood, the nights we can’t fuck... I wanna punch someone.”

Louis grins. “I’ve noticed.”

They smoke some more and rub each other’s willies aimlessly until the bus begins rolling underneath them. Zayn’s afraid he’s so high he might not get hard enough for a round two, and Louis might have to fuck him again (he’s only worried about the emasculation inherent to being a limpdick, because Louis fucking him actually feels really good) but then he pops a respectable hard-on.

“There he is,” Louis says cheerfully, caressing it. “There’s my good boy.”

“Your big boy?”

“Uh-huh, my nice big boy,” he coos.

Louis is full of shit, his dick’s completely average in every way, but it’s nice that he likes it enough that he’s willing to lie. Zayn doesn’t quite trust his erection yet, he’s worried it might fade while he’s in him, so he says, “Lemme get you off first.”

“Wow, such a gentleman for once.”

“Always, mate.”

“Uh-huh.”

Zayn takes the gratefulness he was feeling earlier and uses it to make himself treat Louis like a princess. He rolls him over on the bed and slides down his body, gently kissing his chest and nipples and stomach, then goes after his cock two-handed. One working the shaft, the other teasing and massaging the balls, kissing the inside of Louis’ thighs as he works his fingers.

Louis stretches out on the bed under him, sighing happily, fisting his fingers in Zayn’s hair tight.

Zayn licks him as he works his foreskin back, making him squirm and groan. He likes the salty, bitter taste of dick, but he also likes the way it’s sweeter in certain places, more like pussy. He likes to root out those places with his tongue.

“Little to the right,” Louis murmurs.

Zayn doesn’t like being bossed around, but he obeys.

“D’you think Harry suspected anythin’?” Louis adds raspily.

“Nah, actually. Even though he said I stank like sex.”

“Ha... what’d you say back?”

“Said I had someone over while you were out getting smokes.”

“Smart.”

Zayn licks and then cups his balls, which makes Louis lets out a soft whine, so Zayn full-on squeezes them. Louis arches his back, eyelashes fluttering, moaning.

“Only bloke I’ve ever met who likes that,” Zayn murmurs. “A squeeze, I mean. Too sensitive, I’d feel like I was dying.”

“Nah, I love it,” Louis says, his voice catching in a sexy way. He spreads his arms out over the bed.

“Weirdo.” Zayn goes quiet, concentrating on working his hands. “I’ve been almost sort of sloppy wiv hiding us, actually,” he admits. “But I don’t think anyone’d suspect I’d ever be fuckin’ you, is the thing.”

“Cheers, how flattering,” Louis says, a lazy grin spreading.

“Nah, y’know what I mean, like, just ‘cos we’re tight.” He licks his cock some more, then spits in his hand and uses that to lube his handjob. Louis makes a soft sound that makes Zayn’s own cock throb against the bed. “Reckon people think I like you too much to fuck you.”

Louis laughs. “That true?”

“Obviously not.”

“You like me, huh?” Louis teases, continuing to smile at him.

Zayn experiences a sudden crushing weight in his chest like a piano falling on him. He wants to beg Louis to run away with him, to leave the bus and go run into the airport, pick a destination and just go. They could go live in a little shack by the ocean, throw their phones away, get really tan and fuck all day. Zayn can learn how to breathe again, how to expand his lungs without feeling like they’re stuffed with cotton.

But Louis would never. He can’t. He loves the fans, the band. He feels obligated, and shit. If Zayn said _run away with me_ , Louis would only hear _I’m running away_ , and he’d cry and beg and plead. And Zayn’s not strong enough to say no to him. He’d just end up in another toxic spiral of guilt and resentment, exactly like how things are with Perrie.

The bus is pulling away, anyway. Singapore is rolling by, their views of it hidden behind the buses’ shuttered window blinds. Tomorrow they’ll be in Thailand, and maybe they’ll get a night or two of being stalked by paps and chauffeured around claustrophobically to a series of mind-numbing radio interviews before it’s another show, and then another.

He just has to make it to the break that starts April 4. Then he can slip away, make his exit. Blow everything up. That’ll set his brain back on track. A controlled demolition, like they do with rotting old buildings, except the building is his life as he knows it.

“You’re alright,” Zayn demurs, and then wraps his mouth around Louis’ cock so he doesn’t have to say words anymore.

Louis keeps grabbing and pulling at his hair, really hurting his scalp now, but between the codeine, the promethazine and the weed, the pain barely registers. Zayn spits in his hand and works his fingers back up inside him, crooking them and rubbing Louis’ sweet spot. Louis mewls and bucks his hips against him.

Zayn’s getting bored; he wants Louis to come so he can get ridden and then fall asleep cuddling him. He starts licking bold stripes up Louis’ shaft, fingering him harder and nuzzling his thighs and balls some more, and soon Louis is coming with a soft cry. He splatters Zayn’s neck and chest; Zayn lazily wipes himself off before lying down in the center of the bed beside Louis and wrapping his hands around the base of his own cock, forcing all the blood in it to stay there so his hard-on can’t fade.

“Lube’s on the table,” he says, as Louis sits up unsteadily and runs a hand through his hair.

Louis laughs. “We’ve got lube but no condoms, huh?”

“These’re the priorities of bus one, mate.”

Louis flicks his eyes down at the sight of Zayn strangling his erection. “What, afraid you’re gonna lose it?” he says cannily.

“I won’t lose it if you hurry up an’ sit on it. Put that arse on me already.”

Louis squirts lube into his palm and then gently bats Zayn’s hands away from himself, stroking it onto his cock with tender hands before straddling his pelvis. Zayn reaches up and pinches him on the thigh, just once more for good measure.

“Hi,” Louis says warmly, lifting himself off of Zayn a bit so he can sit on his dick properly.

“Hi,” Zayn murmurs. “I like seein’ you bounce on me.”

“I know you do, you sick bastard.”

“I’m a sick bastard, am I? For enjoying the natural beauty of life?”

Louis goes a little pink in the cheeks at this, then starts to lower himself on Zayn’s cock.

The tightness around him feels as wonderful as it did before. Zayn exhales heavily, gripping the sheets and dropping his head back. Louis makes a soft sound and grips Zayn’s waist, biting at his lip.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Zayn breathes.

In response, Louis clenches on him, and he stutters out a moan. “You mind if I…” He thrusts a little.

“Nah, go on,” Louis says with a smile. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow, fuckin’ hell. Worth it, though.”

Zayn starts fucking him from underneath, and Louis rides him like a pro, moaning softly the whole time. Louis rides dick so well — all loose in the hips but with coiled power — that Zayn’s tempted to ask him how the fuck that’s the case, considering how many years Eleanor had him pussywhipped for. Maybe she was pegging him all that time.

“Yes,” Louis sighs again when he hits him in a good spot, his voice going up so high and breathy that Zayn’s dick throbs in response. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck, _yes_...”

“Good?” Zayn breathes.

Louis nods hard, his eyes squeezed shut.

Zayn is at a perfect amount of mellow from the weed, and Louis’ body feels like it’s an extension of his own. Louis clenches hard on him unexpectedly, and Zayn inhales spit, clutching the sheets. “Fuck,” he swears at him. “Oh, fuck you.”

“You already are, Daddy,” Louis purrs, his hands pressed hard against the bed on either side of Zayn, rolling his hips so hard that Zayn almost slips out.

They get closer as they keep going, Louis leaning over him and folding himself in half, legs bent up, just so they can kiss. Zayn bends his own legs, hooking the backs of his ankles around the front of Louis’, sucking hard on his lip as his throbbing cock jackhammers him. Louis feels so good tonight, Zayn wants to write music about this fuck. _Peach Walls_ or something. Maybe after he leaves, so Louis will already hate him. Hard to do any damage with _Peach Walls_ when somebody already hates you.

Zayn doesn’t want to believe it, though, doesn’t want to believe Louis is capable of hating him. He loves him so much in this moment, with that weird sick brotherly-love-mixed-up-in-passionate-fucking love that he was feeling earlier.

He barely pulls out of Louis in time; his orgasm is a surprise to him right up until the moment before, and he slips out as quick as he humanly can, coming all over Louis’ inner thighs and his bollocks, defiling him again. Louis giggles, kissing his neck.

Crazy from orgasm, not thinking, Zayn moans to Louis, “Come with me.”

“Huh?” Louis murmurs back, breathing hard. He blows in Zayn’s ear and makes him exhale breathily.

“Come with me,” he begs. “Please.”

“Zayn, I already came.”

Just like that, Zayn is rocketed back to unpleasant reality. It feels like landing on Mars. “Right,” he says. “Sorry. I got stupid.”

“Mmm, I can tell, lovey.”

“That’s a compliment to you, by the way...”

“I felt good?” Louis collapses atop him, his skin hot and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Zayn gathers him in his tattooed arms, holding him tight and rubbing his back.

“Very good,” he murmurs, and Louis laughs.

“You too,” he says.

Zayn runs a hand down the small of his back and over his bum, not even groping this time, just appreciatively skimming it. He nuzzles Louis’ neck and kisses him on the side of his face.

Louis kisses his bony collarbone and then licks him like a cat, with a little lap of his tongue. Zayn reaches up to stroke his hair.

“Wish we could spend all day in bed tomorrow,” he mutters. “Just not come out for anyone.”

“We’ve got an interview tomorrow night,” Louis says.

“I know. But I don’t want to go. I just want to hang out.”

“Maybe I’ll blow you right before we go in,” Louis teases. “We’ll say we ‘ave to piss, and I’ll just give you some quick head in the toilet.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Hot, right? Sitting there, me mouth’s all red, you’re all stupid, nobody knows why but us…”

Louis keeps doing this lately — goading him into keeping his commitments by offering him sex either as a reward or as an enticement. Coworker of the century, this guy, and it’s not like Zayn’s going to say no. If he was just going to get yelled at for not doing the shit anyway, or being _difficult_ or whatever, he might as well just fake his way through it and then get to nut on Louis for his troubles. It’s not a half-bad compromise.

If he weren’t leaving, everything would be so different. He’d probably break things off with Perrie immediately, he’d ask Louis if he wants to keep going and see where things take them. Genuinely, Zayn thinks he would do that. They have a great thing going as friends, and the sex is proper good, and they know they don’t bug each other. Zayn’s getting what he needs, right now. He hasn’t felt the urge to go out and pull strangers since he started fucking Louis. Most of that’s the funk he’s in, the fog of depression, but part of it is feeling understood by the person you’re fucking.

They could run away. They could be happy together. They could be selfish together.

But only in Zayn’s fantasies.

He presses his nose to Louis’ hair and inhales his scent, then kisses his head.

THE HAMPTONS, AUGUST 26, 2039

**Amir Tomlinson-Malik secretly marries heir to major media conglomerate: sources**

_LOS ANGELES — Amir Tomlinson-Malik, the 22-year-old musician son of One Direction singers Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson, has secretly tied the knot with his childhood sweetheart, 22-year-old Evan Stewart — heir to The Stewart Group Inc._

_PEOPLE confirmed via marriage documents filed in Nevada that the two were wed August 11 in Las Vegas, with only a few witnesses present._

_“They had a really short engagement,” a source close to the Stewart family told TMZ on Thursday. “No one even knew they were planning on getting married until they eloped. It was a huge shock for their parents.”_

_Amir and Evan reportedly were close friends growing up in Los Angeles, and have had an on-and-off relationship since high school, another source told PEOPLE._

_An onlooker photographed the couple embracing in formal clothing at a nightclub in Vegas on the same night that their wedding took place, but the photos, exclusively obtained by PEOPLE, didn’t leak until their marriage was initially reported by TMZ. You can take a look at them below._

_The Stewart Group is currently under siege by rival telecommunications giant, News Corp, which is now presided over by venture capitalist Rowan Birch. This crisis saw Evan flying immediately back to New York after the wedding to be with his family._

_A source revealed to TMZ that Evan was heard having heated arguments over the phone with his new husband after their nuptials, but noted they’ve since reconciled._

_The way the young newlyweds sped to the altar had many speculating about a possible pregnancy. One Twitter sleuth racked up thousands of likes for a thread that provided a timeline of Amir’s recent public appearances and invited others to draw their own conclusions._

_Representatives for the Stewarts declined to comment on this story, and Amir was not immediately available for comment, but TMZ managed to pose that very question to his stepfather Liam Payne while Payne was leaving the airport on Friday morning._

_“Is Amir pregnant?” a TMZ reporter asked Liam, who laughed and said, “No, no, no. He’s just married, that’s all.”_

*

“So, it’s a load of trash,” Louis says to Zayn.

Zayn lifts his sleep mask, sitting up a little in his relaxation pod, which is parallel to Louis’ (although Louis hasn’t actually relaxed for the entire flight). “Huh?”

“The article, I just finished it. First, someone’s obviously leakin’ from Evan’s camp, so that doesn’t make me feel good about this visit. Second, it’s pretty obvious that they’re just usin’ the boys as a chance to kick dirt on Evan’s dad, ‘cept it’s People, so they do it the classy way, but it’s still obvious.” Louis drops his phone face-down on a cashmere blanket, not wanting to look at it anymore. “And they grabbed Payno for a comment right after he dropped me off at the airport, asking him if Amir is pregnant, of course.”

“See, that’s why I don’t read that shit. I decided to forget how to read.”

Louis laughs. “That working out for you?”

He shrugs. “I’m married to Harry Styles, I ‘ad no choice.”

“So it’s alright that people are saying this shit about your son? Your only son?”

“Listen,” Zayn says, spreading his hands, which smell pleasantly of lotion. “‘Course not. But he’s a grown man, now, and he’s decided he wants to get into the biz, and he knows what that involves. He decided he wants to marry into this notable family, and he knew what he was getting into. I’ve ‘ad to come to terms with the idea that if we try to protect him from everythin’, then he won’t be able to handle anythin’. He’s not a private figure anymore, he’s made sure of that. We can’t play the ‘leave our kids out of it’ card to the press on this one.”

“No, I know.” Louis leans around Zayn, peeking out the window. It’s always hard to tell what’s going on with a flight when you’re zipped away in your little first class bunker with CNBC on in the background, drowning out the sound of the pilot over the intercom. They appear to be taxiing over East Hampton Airport. “It’s not like I’m gonna _do_ anything about it.”

“Hmm,” Zayn says, and yawns catlike.

“‘ _Hmm_ ’ what?”

“Just find that ‘ard to believe.”

*

The Stewarts’ Hamptons mansion is on a street named Lily Pond Lane, which sounds to Louis like something out of a Mr Toad book. It’s a manor surrounded by green hedgerows, with a tennis court prominently placed in the center of a circular driveway.

They landed into a brightly pretty day in New York — almost too nice. The sun is beating down, and every street you turn onto, there are tourists in flip-flops wandering along it.

Their self-driving Uber stops at the mansion’s gate, and Louis leans out the window to press the intercom, which is embedded in a brick post that’s half-hidden in a hedge. “Uh, hello,” he yells. “I’m a guest?”

“Please scan your identification,” a robotic voice replies.

Louis sticks his arm out the window and waves his watch frantically in front of the RFID scanner next to the intercom button.

“Guest not recognized,” the voice says. “Security alerted.” A red light goes on over a keyhole camera above the intercom.

Zayn glances up, looking concerned.

“No, none of that, please,” Louis says. “Let me talk to a person. Are there people home?” He texted Amir after they landed, but got no response. Amir had warned them he might be down at the beach with Evan when they got in. Louis presses the button a few more times.

There’s a long beep, and then Evan’s voice says, “Yo, sorry sorry! The gate’s glitchy. I just buzzed you in.”

Sure enough, the gate parts, then. Their car obediently moves through it and starts rolling past the tennis court.

Zayn looks around queasily. “I don’t like this place,” he says. “Looks like the set of a movie about rich teens murderin’ each other.”

“We’re far from bein’ teens, so no worries.”

Evan and Amir are out in front of the house shouting hellos when they pull up, and then they race each other down the front steps and onto the pea gravel. They’re damp and wet-haired like they just came from the beach. Evan goes to get their luggage from the trunk, where he awkwardly bumps into Zayn, who’s doing the same thing. They look at each other.

“Let your son-in-law be a good host,” Louis calls across the car to Zayn as he goes over to give Amir a hug.

Zayn puts his hands agreeably in the air, and Evan starts snatching up bags.

Louis wraps his arms around Amir, who squeezes him back. “How was the honeymoon, love? What’d you think of Thailand?”

“It was so, so cool,” Amir says, pulling back. “I think you saw all the coolest stuff on my Insta story, like the elephants. But it was just, like, beautiful everywhere. We had the best time.”

Louis nods. “I’ve been a few times, it’s lovely. Great surfing.”

“Facts,” Evan calls.

“Evan likes _durian_ ,” Amir says, smiling. “Isn’t that wild? I honestly hated it, it tasted like feet to me.”

Unshaven and deeply tanned like this, his skin a golden olive tone that glows under the sun as if he’s lit from within, Amir doesn’t look white at all. It’s strange how he can flit back and forth the way he does.

Zayn approaches him from behind and pokes him in the sides, making Amir jump before he turns to accept a rough hug from his dad. Zayn kisses him on the head before letting him go.

They seem to be getting on well lately, which Louis is relieved to see. He knows Zayn deciding to pretend that he’s emotionally accepted Amir’s marriage has helped a lot.

“Durian is amazing,” Evan says, joining them where they’ve bunched up by the side of the car. He’s carrying four bags like it’s nothing. “You’re crazy.”

“Bit sunburned?” Louis says to him with a smile. Evan is bright pink all over, and the muscle shirt he has on over his swim trunks shows off his peeling shoulders.

“Yeah, apparently it’s hot near the equator,” Evan says with a small wince.

“It isn’t even that close to the equator,” Amir says, laughing. “The equator bisects Africa. Go back to AP World.”

“Oh, I’m gonna go learn about geography in AP World _History_ , huh?” Evan says, and Amir makes a jerking off gesture at him. “Um, Louis, Zayn, you can just follow us in. Everyone’s out right now, pretty much. My mom wanted to say hi when you got in, but I think she’s still asleep...”

Amir and Louis exchange a glance.

Evan escorts them inside like a porter, then sets their bags down in the entryway. “The houseman’ll take these upstairs, he gets mad if I do his job for him,” he says, beckoning them deeper into the house, which is gorgeous and airy, with dark wood walls and floors.

Louis looks around at the van Ruysdaels hanging on the walls, noticing how the ceiling is carved into medallions. He feels like he’s walked into an episode of _The Crown_ , and he reaches out to put a hand on Amir’s shoulder, feeling even more protective of him.

“How’s it been so far?” he says.

“Well, we only got in this morning,” Amir says quietly. “We saw everyone at breakfast, but…”

“I think my dad was waiting for you guys to get here before he got into anything serious,” Evan finishes.

“That’s what I still don’t get, what’s he want to talk to us about?” Zayn says, hands stuffed in his pockets. “ _I_ didn’t marry you.”

This has been Zayn’s refrain since a week ago, when Louis started in on demanding that he accompany him on this trip. He finally managed to bully him into it with a combination of _Don’t you want to look out for your son when he’s in the snake pit?_ and _You cheated on me, you owe me for the rest of your life,_ but Zayn remains skeptical. Louis can’t blame him. They’re fairly out of their element.

Evan laughs. “Um. Just, I guess, a post-nup, and stuff. But he’s going to pretend the visit’s all happy and just about joining our families, or whatever. He needs good publicity right now.”

“Who’s here?” Louis says. “What should we expect? Aren’t you all still a bit under siege?”

Evan nods and starts leading them toward a grand staircase. “So it’s my parents, and my sister — not her husband, he had to go back to the city ‘cos of work — my brother Henry, but he’s barely here, he’s been staying with his friends in Montauk, ‘cos that’s where the parties are. My dad sent my aunt Delia and my uncle Beau to go talk to shareholders and try to stop them from voting to let the Birches buy us out. So they took a lot of the C-suite with them. Aunt Delia’s husband Frank is still here, with my cousins Kitty and Chris, but Beau took my aunt Michelle with him ‘cos she’s on the board too. Their daughter Rory is here. Uh, Noelle was actually here earlier, she’s the one who’s Sunday’s second cousin,” he says with a laugh. “My uncle Wade is here, ‘cos he’s not involved in the company at all, and he’s with his daughter Winter.”

“Winter is a love child,” Amir stage whispers. “Wade had her with a hooker.”

“He wasn’t a _hooker_ ,” Evan says, going pink under his sunburn. “I think he was like, uh… he just used to go to a lot of parties that rich people were at, and that’s where Wade met him.”

“Okay, so a gold digger.”

“Amir, don’t say gold digger,” Louis says.

Zayn laughs for the first time all day.

“So, that’s it, plus my grandma is here. And some lawyers and advisers to the company, PR people. They aren’t sleeping here, though. But you guys do have to share a room, sorry, ‘cos there’s only eleven bedrooms. There’s two beds in it, though.”

“That’s fine,” Louis says.

“His mom gave us a room with two beds, too,” Amir says, with a wee eye roll.

“Good on her,” Zayn says.

“Dad, we’re _married_.”

“So?”

It’s Louis’ turn to laugh.

“Oh, hey, Mom,” Evan says, stopping on the stairs.

The other three look to the top of the staircase, where Evan’s mother Nicole has appeared. She’s wearing a silk white bathrobe over a pair of silk white full-length pajamas, and she looks a little out of it, but she descends the stairs with a smile. Louis notices for the first time how much Evan looks like her.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she says, bringing him in for a hug. Evan squeezes her protectively. She hugs Amir then, too, and kisses him on the cheek. “Did everyone have a good flight?”

“Ours was a little long, but not bad,” Amir says. “We had a layover in Athens, we went to the Acropolis.”

“Oh, how nice. Hi Louis, hi Zayn,” Nicole says, letting Amir go and smiling at them. She has a pill-induced glaze in her eyes, like she’s pleasantly far away. “Really nice to see you both again.”

They both shake her hand and say hello.

Someone appears behind them on the stairs; it must be the houseman. He’s a young, nice-looking guy, who gives them a tight grin as he carries their luggage upstairs. Louis smiles back at him, entirely uncomfortable with what side of the class divide he’s allied himself. Fuck’s sake, he could have carried his own luggage up the stairs. Why did he let a sheltered 22-year-old instruct him not to?

It’s something about this house, the dizzying way it reeks of old money and institutional power. Louis is going to have to work hard to keep his wits about him, he can tell.

“You two are okay sharing a room, right?” Nicole calls behind her as they follow the houseman up the rest of the stairs to the airy second floor, which overlooks a large sitting room and library toward the back of the house, which in turn overlook the beach. “I’m sorry about the set-up here. But Evan said you were unusually amicable exes.”

“I don’t think I said _unusually_ , Mom,” Evan says, clearly worried about any comment from him being misinterpreted.

“We’re cool,” Zayn says, in his typically laconic way.

“Nicole, me an’ him could get a hotel, if it’s any trouble to keep us,” Louis offers. “Sounds like you’ve got a full house.”

“Oh, nooo, it’s not any trouble,” Nicole says dreamily. As they walk down the grand upstairs hallway, they hear giggling and murmurs from one of the rooms — two female voices that are talking like they’re cousins or sisters. Louis grew up with enough of his own sisters to always find comfort in the sound of whispering, laughing girls and women. It makes this austere house feel a little homier.

Nicole opens the door to their room for them and immediately drifts away, back down the hall. Louis wonders if she’s going back to bed.

“Hey, yours is bigger than ours,” Amir says, peering inside. “The fuck?”

“You’re family of them, now, lad,” Zayn tells him, going inside and tossing his duffel bag on one of the beds. “Guests get the best accommodations, family get what’s left over.”

The room is quite nice, with a tall ceiling, a large en-suite bathroom and those same carved wood walls. It has two queen beds in it, laid side by side like a hotel room. Louis puts his own bag on the bed Zayn didn’t claim.

“So what are we meant to do now?” he says. “Just hang?”

“There’s a big dinner at seven,” Evan says, staying put in the doorway. He has so much nervous energy and is so badly sunburned that it makes Louis queasy with sympathy just to look at him. “That’s gonna be, uh… I mean, it’s my whole family, so it’ll be a little, uh…”

“You okay?” Amir says.

“I’m just not sure what I’ve gotten you guys into, here,” Evan says. “I’m thinking about it, and honestly, they’re gonna be so relieved to have something to talk about besides the hostile takeover, they’re gonna be all over you.”

“Evan, Zayn and I’ve been fairly famous for most of our lives,” Louis says. “I promise we’ve been through worse. We’ll be alright. Thick skins.”

“What about Amir?” Evan says.

“I have thick skin too,” Amir says, sitting on the edge of Louis’ bed.

Evan, Zayn and Louis all exchange a glance.

“‘Course you do, love,” Louis says, reaching over to stroke his hair.

“I don’t like your tone,” Amir says, narrowing his eyes.

Louis just smiles.

SACRAMENTO, AUGUST 26, 2039

“It’s _hot,”_ Mia says, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair so she can wipe the sweat off her brow.

Sunday nods. It is hot. The two of them agreed to drive Max to a summer pickup baseball game he’s playing with a bunch of the guys from his school team and some of their friends, but they forgot that a pickup game for high-schoolers is not like the average professional baseball game. They’re just out in a field near the high school, with no concession stand, no guy walking around with cold beers. Sunday would kill for a cold beer.

Patrick is here, too, though they didn’t drive him. He came with a bunch of his idiot friends, and is goofing around with them in the top row of the bleachers. Whenever Max goes up to bat, they scream obscenities at him while blowing kisses. Sunday doesn’t understand teenage boys at all.

She and Mia are hanging out by Max’s team’s dugout where it’s shadiest, trying to ignore the spitting and bat-clanking and mayhem going on behind them. They watch as the kid up at bat, Seth, hits a foul, then whiffs, then rockets a ball straight into an outfielder’s glove.

“OUT,” the ump screams.

The dugout erupts with the sound of young boys screaming abusive things at Seth.

“Fucking dumbass,” someone yells.

Max, next up at bat, jogs up to Seth to meet him halfway, then grabs him by the shoulders and starts giving him what appears to be a pep talk. Sunday can’t hear what he’s saying, but after a moment he squeezes Seth and lets him go, and Seth looks less dejected as he walks away.

“DON’T BE NICE TO HIM, MAX,” one of the other boys screams.

“Yeah, fuck you, Seth!”

Seth gives the entire dugout the finger as he rejoins them.

Max steps up to the plate and starts bobbing the bat over his shoulder, looking completely at ease. His team starts a chant of “SCHER-ZER! SCHER-ZER!” that spreads to the bleachers.

“What’s Scherzer?” Sunday mutters to Mia.

Mia snaps the gum she’s chewing. “Baseball thing. Max Scherzer. He has fucked-up eyes like our Max does.”

“Oh, yeah. What’s that called again?”

“Heterochromia?”

“Right.”

“You think that affects his vision at all?” Mia says. “Or is it just cosmetic? You think one eye is more vulnerable to UV rays than the other?”

Sunday laughs. “I never thought about that.”

Up at bat, Max has been letting the ball go by; on the third pitch, he hits a solid grounder and then races to first, making it just in time.

“SCHER-ZER! SCHER-ZER!”

“Two outs, bases loaded,” Mia says in an exaggerated baseball announcer voice, making Sunday laugh. “Top of the, uh, top of the… let’s say seventh.”

“That sounds right.”

The next batter, a pudgy but strong-looking blonde kid, hits a line drive that gets miraculously scooped up by the second baseman, and gets tagged out an inch from first. Everyone in the dugout behind them absolutely loses their mind, while the other team starts jumping around in celebration.

“FUCK YOU-U UMP,” screams one kid. The ump, who is clearly just someone’s older brother volunteering, spreads his arms in disbelief.

“These kids are insane,” Mia says.

“I agree,” Sunday says. “And we’re both professional athletes saying that.”

“Right, so we know what we’re talking about.”

Max jogs over to them, taking his cap off and running his hand through his hair. “Hey!” he says, wrapping them up in a hug. He’s all sweaty and smells like a wet puppy. “Hang on, I want to introduce you guys to somebody.”

“Aren’t you still playing?” Sunday says.

Max squints at her. “Nah, it’s over. We lost.”

“Wait, what?” Mia says. “That was game, just now?”

“Yeah!”

“Aren’t you pissed?”

“No? Who cares? It’s just pick-up. I had a good time.”

Behind them, Max’s team is arguing in pitched tones about whose fault their loss was, sounding like they’re on the verge of coming to blows with each other. Max just stands there smiling.

“Max, I say this with all the love in my heart,” Mia says, “but sometimes I don’t think you’re of this earth.”

He laughs good-naturally and slings his cap onto her head. “Love you too. Hang out here a sec, I’m gonna bring her down to you, okay?”

“Who?” Sunday says.

Max is already bolting for the bleacher stairs. “You’ll see!”

Out of nowhere, Patrick sneaks up behind them, scaring the shit out of them both and cracking up when he does.

“Paddy,” Sunday exclaims in annoyance, shoving him. Mia puts him into a headlock and transfers Max’s sweaty cap to his head. He continues to giggle.

“Who’s Fox introducing us to?” Mia asks him, pinching him in the ribs.

Between giggles, Patrick says, “Oh, probably his girlfriend.”

“His _girlfriend?_ ” Mia and Sunday exclaim in unison.

“Yuh-huh. Caroline Soderlund. She’s a sophomore.”

“Rising sophomore like you guys, or you mean she _was_ a sophomore?” Sunday says.

“She was one, she’s gonna be a junior next term. She’s been tutoring him in English.”

“Oh, a smart girl, we like that,” Mia says.

A moment later, Max returns, and sure enough, he’s holding the hand of a girl. She isn’t what Sunday expected — Max is a big man on campus, but Caroline isn’t a cheerleader type. She’s pretty, but she’s dressed casually, and she looks kind of shy. Sunday likes her immediately.

“These are my sisters,” Max says to her. “Mia and Sunday. Guys, this is Caroline.”

“Hi, Caroline,” Mia says warmly. Sunday waves.

“Hi,” she says with a nervous smile. She seems a little intimidated by them, and Sunday abruptly remembers that they’re probably the most famous family in the Sacramento metro area. Even after ten years of rich people fleeing north from a climate change-torn Los Angeles, most actual celebrities have settled in Napa Valley, the Bay or the Pacific Northwest — Sacramento still has a small-city feel that lends them outsized notoriety.

Max glances at Patrick and punches him in the shoulder. Patrick punches him back. “When’d you get here?”

“Right after it started,” Patrick says. “Hey Caroline.”

“Hi, Patrick.”

“You should come with us,” Max says to him. “We’re going to Jack in the Box.”

Patrick shrugs. “I might. I came here with people.”

“Ditch them,” Max says, sounding serious, giving Patrick that soul-piercing stare he’s capable of.

Patrick blinks at him. Caroline starts twirling her earring in her ear.

“I’m serious,” Max says. “Those are the same guys that got you suspended, they’re the reason you missed two lax games. Ditch them, come hang out with us.”

“I’ll take it into consideration, Dad,” Patrick says lightly. He inclines his head toward Mia and Sunday. “Are _you_ guys going to Jack in the Box?”

“Depends,” Mia says. “Are we your ride, Max?”

Max looks at Caroline, who shrugs. “I rode here with Alex,” she says.

“We could ride with Alex,” Max offers.

“Is Alex a good driver?” Mia says, in full mom mode.

Caroline laughs. “No, she’s actually, like, really bad.”

“Okay, we’ll drive you,” Mia says. “Paddy?”

Patrick shrugs like he has no choice, and they start heading toward Mia’s Audi out in the dusty parking lot. Max runs to grab his stuff from the dugout and shouts, “Get it together! Let’s go eat!” at his brawling teammates as he does.

“So, Caroline,” Mia says. “You’re tutoring Max in English?”

“Uh, yeah,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “He says it’s hard for him to follow along in the plays we’ve been reading, especially Shakespeare. He has trouble, like… staying on task, I guess.”

“He gets that from me,” Mia says, making her laugh.

Sunday leans in to whisper to her, “Are we seriously eating at Jack in the Box? Because…”

“Fuck no, I’m just gonna get a soda. I’m making lamb biryani tonight.”

“Thank God.”

THE HAMPTONS, AUGUST 26, 2039

Amir is mostly done getting dressed for dinner when Louis and Zayn knock on his door. He goes to open it, and finds them piled up like meerkats. From downstairs, Amir can hear the commotion of the whole house getting ready, and the staff prepping the food.

“Hey,” Louis says, peering in. “Sorry to bother… we were just wondering if, er…”

“We’re looking for weed,” Zayn supplies.

“Oh! Yeah, we have weed. Come on in. Evan,” Amir shouts to Evan in the bathroom. “Where’d you put the pre-rolls?”

“In my bag,” Evan yells back over the sound of the blow-dryer. “Outside pocket.”

Louis has a seat on Evan’s bed and starts digging through his duffel. “That’s not what you’re wearing, is it?” he says.

Amir glances down at his blue button-down and corduroys. “What’s wrong with this?”

“You look like you’re showing up to a court date,” Zayn says. “Why’d you button it all the way up for?”

“I’m trying to look respectable,” Amir says, anxiety jumping in his chest.

Evan comes back into the bedroom and starts buttoning up his own shirt over his bare chest. “You’re definitely trying too hard.”

Amir shoots him a look of offense. Evan just shrugs.

“Just loosen it up a bit, love,” Louis says, lighting a joint and taking a deep drag off it. “One thing I would say is maybe, ah, maybe you want to shave? It looks a bit…”

He gestures generally at his own chin.

“Looks what?” Amir says.

Louis shrugs. “Y’know, just… you know.”

Amir gapes at him in mock-offense. “Dad! You fucking racist!”

Zayn falls onto the bed, laughing, and plucks the joint from Louis’ hand. Louis looks nonplussed.

“I’m not — what am I racist for!” Louis splutters.

“You think I look like a terrorist!”

Zayn is laughing so hard he drops the joint on the bedspread. Evan beats a quick retreat into the bathroom.

“I do _not,_ your beard just gets a bit funny like mine does, and you should shape it up or shave it off if you want to look respectable, that’s all. That’s all I was saying!” Louis looks to Zayn for help.

Zayn wipes a tear from his eye and takes a hit from the joint. “You know,” he says to Amir, “when you were born, he wanted to name you _Tyler_.”

“DAD!”

“I did _not_ , that was a joke — Zayn, don’t you dare, you tell him that was a joke.” Louis throws his hands in the air. “It was a joke! I said Tyler Tomlinson sounds like a porn star, that’s what I said.”

He elbows Zayn, who’s still laughing. He finally quiets down enough to say, “You do need to do something about that beard, Amir. It’s patchy. I can shape it for you if you give me five minutes.”

“Sure,” Amir says.

Louis takes the joint back away from Zayn, scowling at him. “Shit-stirrer.”

Zayn sits up, running his hand up Louis’ back as he does, in a way that’s more flirty than Amir is entirely comfortable with. He gets up and steers Amir into the bathroom, where Evan is playing with his hair.

“Out,” Zayn says to him, inclining his head toward the door. “I’ve got to fix your husband’s face.”

Evan turns to Amir and studies his beard. “I think you look okay,” he says on his way out.

Amir smiles at him. “Thanks. Go smoke some weed, you need it.”

Evan heaves a sigh. “Yeah.”

Once he’s gone, Zayn reaches out and closes the door behind him, then turns the fan on. He maneuvers Amir toward the sink. “Lean on the counter so you’re a bit lower.”

Amir complies. “We’re gonna get hair everywhere…”

Zayn picks up a fluffy white towel from the ornate sink and ties it quickly around Amir’s neck like a kerchief. “I’m not gonna take too much off,” he says, picking up the razor that Evan was using a few minutes ago. “Just shape you up.”

He starts working on Amir, squinting at him, studying him carefully.

“You really do like that kid, huh?” Zayn murmurs, grazing the razor over his cheek.

“Who? Evan?”

“Yeah, Evan.”

Amir squints and cocks his head, and Zayn uses his free hand to move his jaw back into place. “I mean, yeah. I married him.”

“I know. I wasn’t talking sideways, or anything. I only want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. Just nervous, that’s all.”

“I know.”

“Evan is as nervous as we are. He doesn’t like these people either.”

“Mmm,” Zayn murmurs, trimming a little more of his beard. “But they are _his_ people.”

“Dad…”

“Hush. I can’t do this properly when you’re talking.”

Amir rolls his eyes but falls silent as Zayn continues to work. After a few minutes, he picks up Amir’s citrus-scented beard oil off the counter and starts rubbing it in.

“Not too much,” Amir says.

“Stop taking your personal grooming tips from Louis and Harry,” Zayn says. “Our hair’s more porous than theirs, you’ve got to use more product. I’ve been telling you this for years.” He picks up some pomade and smooths it into Amir’s hair, artfully tousling his fringe, undoes his dress shirt by two buttons and helps him roll the sleeves crisply to his elbows, then turns Amir around by the shoulders. “Alright?”

Amir is surprised; Zayn actually did a great job. He’s gone from a shaggy, just-got-back-from-vacation frat boy to a well-groomed, if rakish, young man. His beard no longer appears patchy at all. “Wow. Yeah, that’s great, actually.”

“Sound more surprised,” Zayn says with an amused grin. “You do take after me, mate. I know how to make me look good.”

Amir stares apprehensively at his reflection. “You think tonight’ll go okay? You think everyone’s gonna like me?”

Zayn presses a gentle kiss to the back of his head. “Doesn’t matter one bit.”

“But Dad —”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zayn says firmly. “It does not fucking matter. Nobody needs to like you. Sometimes it’s better if they don’t.”

“How is it better?”

“‘Cos it means you didn’t compromise your integrity for empty approval.”

“I just want to be liked.”

“I know you do. But you just have to accept that sometimes people aren’t gonna like you, and it’s not your fault.”

A lump forms in Amir’s throat.

“C’mon,” Zayn says, squeezing his shoulder. “Let’s go finish those joints and go get this stupid dinner over with.”

Amir laughs. “Okay.”

*

Louis realizes when he walks into the dining room that he is entirely too stoned for this. First off, it’s massive, with the same dark wood walls and high ceilings the rest of the house has. It’s not like Louis is unused to wealth, at this point, but there’s something about the oldness of this wealth. It’s like a smell, or another person in the room with you, an overpowering presence that sets your teeth on edge. His stoned brain feels heavy in his head like wet cotton.

There are staff milling around in crisp white uniforms, setting up the food on the dining room table while a load of white people loiter and sip cocktails — some in tennis outfits, some in YSL or Chanel or Hermes. Louis only recognizes Evan’s older sister. His mum doesn’t appear to be downstairs yet.

Zayn nudges him in the side. “Nobody’s sat down yet. I’m going for a smoke.”

“Oh, Zayn, c’mon —”

Zayn shoots him a look. “I’ll be back in five.”

And with that, he’s gone, skulking toward the patio doors like a cat and slipping out, going unnoticed by everyone in the room until the door clicks shut behind him and everyone glances up at the unexpected sound. One of Zayn’s many talents.

“Is he good?” Evan says. Evan clearly smoked a little too much, too — his eyes are glassy and red despite a liberal application of eyedrops, and he keeps worrying at his lip with his teeth.

“He’s fine,” Louis says. “He just doesn’t like people much.”

Evan laughs nervously. Amir, who’s standing next to him and scanning the room, reaches out and takes Evan’s hand in his own.

“I don’t see your dad,” Amir mutters.

“I don’t either,” Evan says. 

“Ew… your hand is sweaty.”

Evan lets go of his and wipes it on his chinos. “Sorry.”

Amir grabs it back. “It’s fine.”

Evan’s sister Rachel wanders up to them with a martini in her hand, looking supremely bored and wearing a black shift dress. “Hey,” she says.

“Rachel, you’ve met Amir’s dad Louis, right?” Evan says.

“Oh, yeah, once or twice,” Rachel says, shaking his hand. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”

“You too. You used to buy my kids alcohol, didn’t you?”

Rachel grins at him. “Guilty.”

“It’s alright,” Louis says. “They were gonna get it from somewhere.”

“True,” Amir agrees, earning him a flick in the ear from Louis.

Rachel opens her clutch and takes out a tissue, dabbing at her nose, which is a little pink at the tip. Between this and the size of her pupils, Louis is almost certain that she’s on coke, but he decides to pretend she just has a cold. “Have you seen Dad?” she says to Evan, and sniffs.

Evan shakes his head. “Not Mom either.”

“She’s still upstairs. I think she’s gonna miss dinner. You know.” Rachel mimes rattling a pill bottle.

Evan gives her a tight nod and looks into middle distance. “Well, y’know.”

“We’re all coping differently,” Rachel says.

Amir reaches up with his free hand and squeezes the crook of Evan’s elbow, leaning bodily into him. Evan turns to face him, burying his nose in Amir’s hair.

“Oh, wait, there he is,” Rachel says, taking a sip of her martini. “The man of the hour.”

Louis turns and sees Carter walking into the dining room. One of the staff brings a tray of cocktails to him; he takes one without looking and strides toward Louis, then shakes his hand.

“Glad to see you made it,” he says.

Louis nods. “Thanks for having us.”

“Of course,” Carter says. “We have a lot to discuss. Is your ex-husband around?”

“He stepped out to, ah, take a call,” Louis says. “But yeah.”

Amir mouths ‘take a call’ to himself and smirks.

“Where’s your brother?” Carter says to Evan and Rachel.

Rachel spreads her arms. “If you don’t see him, he’s not here.”

Carter glances at Evan, who shrugs.

“I haven’t talked to him in days,” Evan says. “I’m guessing he’s with his friends.”

“Right,” Carter says. “We need to talk about that.”

Evan looks confused. “You and I do?”

“Yes.” Carter glances at the dive watch on his wrist, then claps Evan on the shoulder. “But it’s going to have to wait ‘til tomorrow, when Tom gets back from Omaha.”

“Tom?” Evan says.

Carter sighs at this. “General counsel, Evan.”

“Right, I knew that.”

“Where’s your mother?” Carter says. He directs this at Rachel.

Rachel shrugs. “I’m sure she’ll be down.”

“Right.” Carter walks away in the direction of a knot of men huddled in the corner near the door Zayn disappeared through. If Louis squints, he can see the outline of Zayn, lit by the lights in the backyard and the glow of his cigarette.

“The fuck was that about?” Evan says to no one in particular.

“Your brother was being set up to take over the company after you said no, yeah?” Louis says. “Maybe he wants to make a final push to swap you back in.”

Evan laughs. “No, there’s no way.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure Louis is right,” Rachel says.

Evan looks at her, wide-eyed.

“Henry’s literally fallen off the planet in the last few days,” Rachel says, sounding terse. “I know you’re doing everything you can to pretend this doesn’t concern you, but it does. You know he got stopped for DUI while you were in Thailand? Luckily the cop was cool and let him go without a breathalyzer.”

“Maybe the cop shouldn’t have been cool,” Evan says. “Maybe he should face some consequences for something before he kills somebody. I mean, Jesus Christ, Mom and Dad wanted to let me spend the night in _jail_ when I got arrested.”

Rachel tightens her grip on her glass. “Okay, look, you can take the moral high ground all you want, but this company represents thousands of jobs. If our stock tanks any more, there’s going to be a massive round of layoffs. In fact, they’re already talking about doing that to stop the bleeding. So if you care about the little guy so much, you should care about this company.”

Evan is about to retort, but Amir puts a hand on his chest.

“And by the way,” Rachel whispers, cutting her eyes to the left to make sure the group of Stewarts next to them isn’t actively eavesdropping, “if you want to change how our stations cover climate change, maybe _running_ the company would be a good place to start?”

“That’s not me,” Evan says. “Jesus, Rachel, that’s not me! I don’t want to do it! Why don’t _you_ do it?”

Heads are turning, now. Louis has flashbacks to himself getting loudly heated in rooms full of Modest suits, and the way it usually bit him in the ass later. He touches Evan’s arm and leans into his ear, whispering, “Careful, lad.”

“I don’t want it,” Rachel says. “I’m going to be First Lady someday. I don’t need this fucking headache.”

“Why do I have to get the headache?”

“Evan,” Amir whispers.

Mercifully, at that moment everyone is distracted by a woman in a chef’s toque coming into the dining room and clapping her hands together. “If everyone could be seated,” she says, “dinner will be served momentarily.”

Louis catches Zayn’s eye through the glass door and motions to him. Zayn drops his cigarette and grinds it out under his heel, then slips back into the room and heads over to them.

Rachel looks over at him as he walks up. “Were you smoking?”

Zayn looks caught off-guard. “Yeah.”

“Can I bum one?”

Zayn palms her a cigarette. You can tell by the way he does it that he’s done that exact thing hundreds of times. Rachel takes it gratefully and tucks it into her bra.

“Rach,” Evan says, sounding embarrassed.

“Be grateful I’m even here,” Rachel says, draining the rest of her cocktail. “The only reason I still am is to be a buffer for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I could have gone back to New York with Alex.”

Evan opens his mouth to respond, but she turns and walks away toward the dining table, chatting animatedly with another woman her age before sitting down with her back to them.

Evan sighs. “I’m too high for this.”

Louis, Zayn and Amir nod in agreement.

They take a seat on Rachel’s side of the table, snagging four seats together — Amir in between Evan and Louis, and Zayn on Louis’ left, at the corner of the table. Louis glances at the tableware in front of him and dimly recalls all the dining etiquette he’s picked up over the years. There’s a flute of champagne at every place setting.

Evan is murmuring people’s names and identities into Amir’s ear. Louis tries to listen in, but the table is a massive one that seats about twenty-five, and it’s hard for him to tell who’s a Stewart and who’s a Stewart Group suit. Not that it matters much, probably.

As the last few stragglers are sitting down, Nicole walks into the dining room and takes a seat next to Rachel, stroking her daughter’s hair as she does. At the head of the table, Carter glances sideways at his wife in a contemptuous way that raises Louis’ hackles, then clears his throat.

“I want to thank everyone for making the time tonight to have this sit-down dinner,” Carter says, as the staff come around to start ladling soup into everyone’s saucers. “I know those have been hard to come by in all this, uh, chaos, so I appreciate it, both from family and those of you who have been with the company so long that you’re basically family. But I wanted to make sure we all got together, because as you all know, we have something to celebrate…”

He lifts his flute of champagne, and everyone else at the table follows suit. They’re all now staring at Evan and Amir, twenty-four or so pairs of curious eyes.

“My son Evan,” Carter says, clearly trying to smile despite his tanned face being a rictus of exhaustion and stress, “married his boyfriend of several years a couple of weeks ago. So I wanted to raise a glass to that, and thank my new son-in-law, Amir, and his parents Louis and Zayn, for being gracious enough to pay us a visit in the eye of the hurricane.”

Great, now the curious eyes are shifting to Louis and Zayn. Louis sits up very straight in his chair and tries, in vain, to look less heavily tattooed.

Zayn leans into Louis’ ear and says in a tone below a whisper, “Does ‘e think we give a shit about his legal problems, or what?” Louis stifles a snort.

Carter tips his glass in his son’s general direction. “To Amir and Evan.”

Everyone follows suit, toasting the person next to them. Louis turns to Zayn and offers up his champagne flute; Zayn looks at him like he must be kidding, but sighs and clinks glasses with him before setting his own down without drinking from it.

When Louis looks back round, he sees Amir down his entire glass in one sip like he’s taking a shot, and he elbows him.

“What?” Amir mutters.

“Don’t act like a frat boy,” Louis whispers.

“Sorry.”

Next to him, Evan is pale under his sunburn. He keeps giving his father darting, sidelong glances. Louis is sure that he’s thinking about what Rachel said.

Carter gives them all permission to start eating their soup. Louis tries a little bit and realizes it’s a gazpacho with watermelon in it, of all things. Not his cup of tea, really. He glances at Zayn, who’s setting his own spoon back down. Louis lifts an eyebrow at him.

“Not huge on cold soup,” Zayn mutters.

“Me neither.”

Amir is happily devouring his. He only gets properly hungry when he’s high, which is most of why Louis turned a blind eye when he started smoking and getting the munchies in high school. Better he smoke a little weed than be malnourished and anemic.

“Question for you two,” the elderly woman on Zayn’s left says, and leans forward. She’s sitting at the other end of the table across from Carter, and is quite literally draped in jewelry, so Louis assumes this must be Mamie, the Stewart matriarch. “The name Amir, I’ve always been taken with it. What’s the origin of that? Is it a family name?”

Louis looks at Zayn, because he genuinely doesn’t know. He remembers Zayn saying it the first time; he was like seven or eight months pregnant, and they were hanging out in the pool on floating lounge chairs, and Zayn was reading from a list on his phone when he got to Omar and Amir. Louis wasn’t taken with either, not right away — mostly because they didn’t seem suited to nicknames, and he loves nicknames.

Zayn shrugs. “I don’t think it’s from any one particular place. I dunno. It’s like, Arabic, Persian, Hebrew, Indian, Pakistani. Means like, prince, chief. King.”

“King shit,” Amir intones. Louis elbows him, and Evan laughs into his sleeve.

“The fertile crescent,” Mamie says, in a weirdly romantic way, like she’s in an old movie.

Zayn inhales, squints, and exhales.

She continues: “And you’re from…?”

“Bradford, England,” Zayn says shortly.

“Zayn’s from Mars, possibly,” Louis puts in.

“We’ve discussed this, Mrs. Stewart,” Amir says. “Remember? I said I’m only a quarter Pakistani, and you said, oh, but you’re so dark!”

The way he says this, he’s clearly making fun of her, but you would only be able to tell if you know him very well. Louis looks around the room for another conversation to pay attention to, but everyone else is too far away. Evan is spooning up gazpacho and letting it fall back into his bowl, staring at it like it owes him money.

“Not _dark,_ dear,” Mamie is quick to correct him. “Golden was the word I used. And you are very golden right now.”

“Like an Oscars statuette,” Amir chirps. He’s definitely high.

“Yes!” Mamie says, winking at him and toasting him with her wine glass. She seems as drunk as he is high.

Zayn leans in to whisper in Louis’ ear again. “I need another cigarette.”

“We haven’t even finished the sou-up,” Louis whispers back.

Zayn pats him on the back as he gets to his feet. “You’re on your own, sweetheart,” he purrs in Louis’ ear, making the hair on the back of Louis’ neck stand up, then he slips out, heading back into the hallway.

“Wait, where’s Dad going?” Amir says, snagging a cocktail off the tray of a passing server.

“Had to take a call,” Louis lies, and he grabs a cocktail too. “Thanks, mate.”

The server looks surprised to be directly addressed, but he nods.

“Louis,” a young woman sitting next to Mamie pipes up, dabbing at her mouth carefully so she doesn’t mess up her lipstick. “Hi, I’m Evan’s cousin, Kitty.”

“Hi, Kitty, good to meet you.”

“I would _love_ to talk to you and Zayn about the music industry,” Kitty says, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve actually been thinking about recording an album for years, I’m just not sure how to go about it.”

“Ah, sure, yeah… you sing?”

She nods.

“Play any instruments?”

“Oh, no,” Kitty says, laughing. “I have, like, no sense of rhythm at all.”

Louis stops himself from reacting to this. “Well, yeah, grab me at some point and we can chat,” he says.

“Perfect!”

“Kitty’s a big fan of Harry,” Evan murmurs.

“Aren’t we all,” Louis says genially, taking a few sips of his cocktail.

The conversation at Carter’s end of the table, where Carter is sitting with a few suits, starts to get heated. Carter hisses something in a whisper at the guy sitting to his left, then gets up and motions for him to follow. They push open the swinging doors into the kitchen and disappear into the pantry.

Everyone notices this, but everyone pretends not to.

“So, Amir,” Rachel says. Her tennis bracelet gleams on her wrist as she picks up her glass of wine. “Exactly _how_ Muslim are you? Like how serious are you about it?”

A hush falls over the table. Everyone is suddenly looking at Amir with concern, like his hair’s on fire.

“Uh,” Amir says. “Not, like, super observant. I’m guessing I’m more Muslim than you guys are Protestant, though.”

Rachel seems to find this genuinely funny; everyone else responds with awkward titters.

“I’m just wondering how you’d raise your kids,” she says. “If you guys had kids?”

“I think tradition is nice,” Amir says, doing a marvelous job of staying calm. Louis can now only tell he’s high by the glassiness of his eyes, and how much he’s blinking. “I can’t see that far in the future, though.”

“Do you _want_ kids?” a man sitting next to Kitty says, peering over his glasses at Amir.

Evan clears his throat like he just came back online. “It’s not really any of your business, Uncle Frank. Or yours, Rachel.”

“We’re all just curious,” Rachel says. “We haven’t seen much of you, the past few years, and now you’re married. Everyone’s interested… not in a bad way.”

There are murmurs of agreement.

Louis settles his arm protectively over the back of Amir’s chair. “You know,” he says, “seems like everything’s a bit unsettled at the moment, innit? With your family business, and things like that. So why don’t we maybe stay away from the topic of the future, ‘cos I don’t think anyone in this room can say for sure what’s going to happen down the road.”

Uncle Frank looks a little deflated, but Rachel winks at Louis. “I’ll drink to that,” she says.

The conversations around them start to resume.

“You’ll drink to anything,” Evan mutters under his breath.

Louis uses the arm that’s resting on Amir’s chair to pat Evan on the shoulder.

*

The rest of dinner goes by without incident. When Zayn comes back, he’s mean-mugging enough that all questions about race, religion and politics go out the window and don’t come up again, to Louis’ relief. This is no doubt helped along by the fact that Carter returns from his powwow with the suits looking white as a sheet, and Nicole topples out of her chair toward the end of dinner, presumably due to mixing several glasses of wine with whatever pills she’s been taking.

Evan is the one who goes over to her and helps her up. Carter shoots a look at both of them, and Evan shoots one right back. It’s withering.

“He’s such a hypocritical fucker,” Evan spits as the four of them are heading back upstairs, having said no thank you to the cigars and the brandy and the sorbet that were being passed out. “‘My weak wife, my weak son…’”

Louis squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t read all that into it. He’s having a tough time right now, don’t take it personally that he’s not handling it like an adult.”

“It _is_ personal, though.”

“Evan,” Carter calls from behind them in the foyer, as they’re climbing the staircase.

They all turn. He’s by the front door, standing next to yet another non-descript middle-aged guy in a suit, who doesn’t look happy. Louis keeps being unpleasantly reminded of the time during OTRA right after he found out he was pregnant with Mia — it’s the vibe of this unfriendly house, with all these guys in suits scowling in his general direction.

“This is Tom,” Carter says. “You remember Tom?”

“Yeah,” Evan says. “Hi.”

“I got an early flight,” Tom says. “You and me and your dad should talk. Right now.”

Evan doesn’t move from the stairs. Amir, who’s on the step above him, touches a hand to the middle of his back. “About what?”

“You know what about,” Carter says, and motions impatiently at him. “Come on. We’ll go to the library for privacy.”

“Anything you have to tell me, you can say in front of Amir.”

“These are trade secrets, Evan,” Tom says, sounding a little exasperated. “So no, we can’t.”

“Amir, why don’t you go have a cigar?” Carter says. “We’ll come and get you afterward. I promise we won’t keep him too long.”

Amir glances at Louis like he’s asking if he should or not.

“Up to you,” Louis says. “We’ll be right upstairs.”

“Okay,” Amir says, sounding nervous. He descends the stairs behind Evan; Evan reaches behind himself to take Amir’s hand.

Louis waves to them both as they head back down the hallway they just came through.

“I don’t like that guy,” Zayn says through his teeth.

“Which one?”

“Either of them. And I don’t like how he talks to that kid.”

Louis laughs as they start heading back upstairs. “What, are you some big fan of Evan now?”

“No, not a fookin’ big fan, but it’s out of line. He hasn’t smiled at him or had one nice word for the kid since we’ve been here.”

“The toast?”

“Toast was fake,” Zayn scoffs.

“Yeah, seemed a bit calculating to me.”

Louis’ watch rings as they’re walking down the hallway. He’s expecting it to be a goodnight call from Payno and the boys, but then he remembers it’s only like four o’clock in California.

It’s Sunday. He picks up quickly, and shoves his earpiece into his ear. “Hullo?”

“Hi,” she says, sounding tearful.

Sunday is never tearful. Louis leans heavily against the hallway wall for support as all the air goes out of him. Please God let everyone be alright. “What’s wrong, love?”

Zayn stops next to him, his hand on the doorknob to their room, and looks at him in concern.

“It’s my mom,” Sunday says.

Louis closes his eyes in guilty relief. “Alright. What happened?”

“Everything okay?” Zayn whispers.

Louis nods at him and mouths ‘Ceci’. Zayn opens the door to their room and sheepdogs him inside.

“She had a skiing accident,” Sunday says.

Louis goes over and sits on the edge of the bed, where his still-open suitcase is lying atop the covers. “Is she alright?”

“No. She had, um. She’s — I dunno. John just called me, and he could barely talk, they were in a helicopter. They’re in Colorado right now… I have to fly out. I’m on my way to the airport.”

“What _happened_ , though?”

“She has a head injury. That’s all he said. They need to, uh, they need to do surgery to relieve the swelling, and like —“ Sunday’s voice catches. “I don’t know. She’s not conscious. I think they’re worried she’s going to have brain damage.”

“Oh God.”

“Or be brain dead? I guess?”

“Sunday, sweetheart,” Louis says, leaning forward with his head in his hands, his heart pounding. “I’ll come be with you, yeah? I’ll get on the next plane.” He gets up in a confused frenzy and starts looking around for his wallet. Zayn looks over at him in concern and mouths _what?_

“Please don't,” Sunday says.

“You can’t be alone right now —“

“Dad, listen.”

Her calling him Dad quiets him.

“I’m not alone,” she says. “Mia came with me for, like, moral support. She’s driving, right now.”

“Oh, thank God. Alright. But I can still fly out, if you need me. I should come be with you while you wait, me and Payno both.”

“Dad has to watch the boys.”

“He can bring the boys along.”

“They have school,” Sunday says calmly.

Louis shakes his head. He’s not thinking right. “You’re right. So just me, then?”

“Listen, please. I want to, um — I don’t know what’s gonna happen. Everything could be okay, and she could wake up and be okay, or she could, y’know.” Sunday’s voice wavers. “Not wake up, I guess. And until I know, I just want to act normal. So when I know, then I want you to come here, please. If you can. But only when I know. For now I just need everything to be normal.”

“Okay,” Louis says, his voice hoarse. “I wish I could give you a hug.”

“I’ll ask Mia for one, okay? You guys hug the same, so I’ll pretend it’s from you.”

He laughs. “Okay. Is your dad alright?”

“Yeah, I guess. I think he’s kind of in shock.”

Louis sighs.

“Listen, I have to go, I have to make some more calls, okay? Love you.”

“I love you so much, angel. Keep me updated.”

He rings off with her and lets out a deep sigh.

“What?” Zayn says, sounding aggravated from a lack of information. “Everything okay? Who was that?”

“Sunday,” Louis says, coming to sit beside him on the couch. “Her mum had a fall skiing in Colorado, hit her head, I guess. She’s in a bad way. They’re waiting to see if she wakes up, and if she does, if she’s brain-damaged.”

“Jesus,” Zayn says.

“Yeah. Mia’s with her, but… y’know.”

“You want to be too?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “But she says she wants to wait to get some news first. Guess it’d be overwhelming if we all started swarmin’ her now.”

“Makes sense,” Zayn says. “What about Liam?”

Louis shrugs. “Sunday said he’s in shock. I’m about to call him.”

Zayn watches with concerned curiosity as Louis starts dialing Liam on his watch. He picks up after five rings.

“Hi,” Liam says. Louis can’t tell if he sounds upset or not. He can be very stoic at times.

“Hi sweetheart,” Louis says. “Sunday just rang me.”

Liam exhales shakily. “Okay. Good. I was about to ring you myself.”

“How are you doing?”

“Um, not too great,” Liam says, his voice going thin like he’s about to cry.

“Oh, Payno, love… d’you need me to come home?”

Liam clears his throat manfully. “No, no. Amir needs you.”

“If you need me more, I’m happy to come back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get through it. It’s just, y’know.” His voice gets thin again. “I just keep thinking, if Sunday loses her mum, and they never made up, y’know? They never put things right… and it was all my fault…” He breaks off.

“It’s not your fault, babe. Please don’t do this to yourself.” Louis glances at Zayn, who looks even more concerned. “Where are you? What are you doing?”

“I’m at Paddy’s lacrosse practice, I came to sit in the car when Sunday called. I’m, uh, still in the car.”

“Why don’t you go be with the other parents? I’ll stay on the line if you like, but you shouldn’t be alone. Did Lucas’s dads come to practice?” Lucas is one of Patrick’s teammates and a good friend of his, and his parents Jared and Dustin have become close friends of theirs in turn. They met when they rushed the same frat, then got pregnant and married while they were in college, so they have much more in common with Louis and Liam than other rich stuffy parents usually do.

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you fill them in on what’s going on? They’ll understand, they’ll take care of you. Maybe they can come back to the house with you after, to hang out, so you aren’t alone.”

Liam clears his throat again. “Maybe.”

Louis aches for him. “You sure you don’t want me home?”

“No, don’t come back on account of this. Just keep your ringer on, is all. We might need you.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Liam says, but the way he says it is clipped.

“Hang on,” Louis says. “What’s the problem? You sound upset with me.”

Liam makes a strangled noise. “I can’t do this with you right now.”

“Do what with me right now?”

“Talk. To you. About this.”

“Payno, c’mon, I understand completely. I’d be gutted if something like this happened to Zayn.”

“It better not,” Zayn mutters under his breath as he flicks through the channels on the TV.

“It’s not that,” Liam says. He’s talking like his words are being torn from him with force. “It’s… I feel like shit. About you, about us. I had feelings for you the whole time I was with her. And the last things she ever said to me were so hateful. She thinks we stole her daughter from her.”

Louis doesn’t even know what to say.

“I feel like I killed her,” Liam chokes out. “I’ve wished she would die, a few times. I thought it would make things easier. Maybe I did this.”

“Oh, _Liam_ , no! Come on, lad. Christ, that’s crazy talk. And we don’t even know what’s going to happen, she might be fine.”

All Louis can hear now are wracking, animal sobs, the kind he never hears from Liam — the kind you hear at a funeral.

“Payno, I’m coming home. This is ridiculous. You’re in pain.”

“No,” Liam says, sniffing. “That’d make it worse.”

“ _Worse?_ ”

“I’d feel too guilty. And honestly I feel a bit superstitious about you, right now.”

“What does that mean?” Louis demands.

Liam inhales shakily. “I just need some space.”

Louis is silent. He doesn’t even know what to say to that.

“Look, I’ll be okay. I promise. Just have your phone or your watch on you all the time, please.”

“You know I always do anyway.”

“I know.”

“I love you,” Louis says, his voice firm. He hasn’t been this worried about Liam in God knows how long.

“Yeah. Love you.” Liam hangs up.

Louis gets to his feet and flings his phone onto the bed. “Jesus Christ...”

“What?” Zayn says, muting the TV.

Louis stares at his phone, unseeing, the back of his neck buzzing. “He’s spinning out about this, but he doesn’t want me coming home. He thinks I’d make him feel worse, ‘cos of how he had feelings for me when he was married to her, and ‘cos of how she hates us and thinks I nicked Sunday off her.”

“Does she even give a shit about that kid?” Zayn says. “Doesn’t really sound like it.”

“That’s beside the point, to Liam.”

“Well, you know Liam. Everything’s got to be the fucking Brady Bunch.” Zayn pats the bed next to him. “Sit down. Smoke some more weed. Ain’t nothing you can do from here.”

Louis goes over and sits beside him, leaning against him. “But I feel horrible.”

“I know.”

“I love Liam. I love Sunday.”

“They love you. Ain’t about that. I’m sure if she snuffs it, they’ll be crying on your shoulder.”

“Oh, that’s nice, Zayn.”

“Well.” Zayn shrugs. “Probably she won’t, anyway. How often do people die off skiing accidents? Doctors always freak you out so you’ll think they’re gods when everything turns out alright.”

Louis stares at the muted TV, his cheek pressed to Zayn’s shoulder. “Liam never talks to me like that,” he murmurs.

“Talks to you how?”

“Cold, like. He snaps at me, but he doesn’t talk cold to me. He said he wants _space_ from me.”

“He’s just scared, Lou.”

“He said he’s wished she would die, before,” Louis says. “He never told me that.”

“I’m not surprised. They ‘ad a nasty divorce.”

“You didn’t ever wish _I_ would die, did you?”

“Fuck, no,” Zayn says. “‘Round when we were breaking up I mostly wished _I_ would die.”

Louis laughs.

“I did wish Liam would die, a few times,” Zayn admits. “But I knew if he did, you’d be sad about it forever, which’d be even more annoying.”

“Wow, cheers.”

“Yeah, I’m generous like that. Did you wish I would die?”

“Nah, never. Well, maybe right after you told me you cheated on me.”

“Fair play.”

“Sort of hoped you’d drive off drunk and wrap your car around a pole.”

“Jesus Christ,” Zayn says, and starts laughing.

“I knew the kids would be too sad, though,” Louis says. “Maybe that’s why Payno felt like that, ‘cos she’s not just a shit ex-wife, she’s a shit mum, too.”

“Well, wishing for something doesn’t make it happen.”

“I know.”

Zayn lights one of the joints they stole off Amir and hands it to Louis, who takes a drag.

*

Evan’s dad has an office inside the library, which Amir thinks is kind of grotesque in its opulence. He waits outside in the library with a half-full glass of brandy, walking through the bookshelves, half-listening to the muffled conversation coming from behind the door to the office.

Amir picks up a copy of _A Good Man Is Hard to Find_ , which he read back in college, and pages through it until he comes to a random section. Oh, God, it’s _A Stroke Of Good Fortune,_ the story about the woman in denial about being pregnant _._ He had read that shortly after his abortion, and it had filled him with such thrumming, existential dread that he laid awake for hours after finishing it.

He puts the book back, and someone says from behind him, “Not a fan?”

Amir turns. It’s one of the suits who was at dinner. He’s not that old — maybe mid-thirties, and actually handsome.

“No, it’s a good book,” Amir says. “Just kind of a downer.”

The guy laughs. “I’m Ryan Larson,” he says, extending his hand, which Amir shakes. “CEO of Theta.”

“Amir,” Amir says. “The fuck is Theta?”

Ryan smiles at him. “It’s a news app. I take it you’re not a fan.”

“Just never heard of it.”

“Not a news guy? You did just marry into a news family.”

“I have a digital subscription to _The New York Times_ ,” Amir says defensively. “I read it every morning when I lived in Manhattan. Well, I read Style and Arts, but I read it. And I did the crossword once.”

“Well, my mistake. Anyway, the Stewart Group owns Theta, so…”

“Oh, so you’re as fucked as they are,” Amir says.

“Right,” Ryan says. “Wanna go sit down? I’m waiting for Carter… I’m guessing you’re waiting for Evan. We might be here a while.”

“Sure,” Amir says.

They settle in the nearest seats, two leather wingback chairs in the middle of the imposing, dark-walled library. Amir sets his glass of brandy down on the table between them.

“You don’t look old enough to be a CEO,” he remarks.

Ryan smiles at him again. His eyes are twinkling, and Amir can tell this guy attracted to him, which is fine. That happens to him enough that it’s barely worth remarking on, at this point. “Well, I created the app.”

“So that makes you CEO by default?”

“It does if you’re smart about how you conduct business.”

“And you are?” Amir flirts.

“I like to think so.”

“Does anyone else think so?”

“Oof,” Ryan laughs. “Your father-in-law, for one.”

“Don’t call him that,” Amir says, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s what he is.”

“I know, but hearing it is gross.”

“‘Gross’?” Ryan says, sipping his drink. “How old are you again?”

“Twenty-two. Why?”

“Twenty-two…” Ryan gazes off into the distance. “Twenty-two. And married…. to Evan Stewart. Huh.”

“Why _huh_?”

“It just surprises me,” Ryan says. “Meeting you, I’m surprised. ‘Cos I’ve known Evan for some time now, and you’re not who I would picture him marrying.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryan smiles. “Don’t take it the wrong way. It’s a compliment. I’m surprised Evan is man enough for somebody like you.”

“Somebody like me?” Amir challenges.

“Someone so…” Ryan gestures. “Sparkly.”

“ _Sparkly_?”

“You know what I mean. I can’t help looking at you. I noticed you from across from the room as soon as I walked in.”

“That’s because you want to fuck me,” Amir smart mouths him. “Don’t confuse that with knowing me. You don’t know me at all.”

“I might like to,” Ryan says.

“That’s nice. But I’m married to Evan, who’s plenty of man for me.”

He smiles. “Good for Evan.”

An awkward silence falls between them. Ryan glances at him and says, “You speak any Arabic?”

“Sure don’t,” Amir says.

“Farsi?”

“Closer, but still nope. What, are you one of those guys who travels a lot?”

“I enjoy cultural exchange,” Ryan says in an oily voice.

Amir grimaces. So that explains the attraction.

Behind them, a door creaks open. They both turn and see Evan walk out of the office, white-faced, with his dad and Tom behind him.

Evan looks relieved to see Amir, and nods at him. Amir nods back, and lifts his eyebrows in curiosity. Evan shrugs and shakes his head.

“Hi there,” Carter says to Amir and Ryan. “Amir, uh, you and Evan should talk. Ryan, I’m ready for you now.”

Ryan gets up and buttons up his jacket.

“Talk?” Amir says, but Carter is already turning away and heading back into his office, with Ryan and Tom on his heels.

Evan comes over to Amir and laces his fingers in his, then splays their hands out together playfully.

“Sit down,” Amir says, getting up and scooting to the side, letting Evan take his place in the armchair. He daintily perches on his lap and starts to stroke Evan’s hair; Evan squeezes Amir’s thigh and nuzzles his beard.

“Soo… what are we ‘talk’-ing about?” Amir says.

“It’s the shit I predicted,” Evan says. “He wants me to take a seat on the board, so I can vote against the Birches acquiring us.”

Amir gazes at their intertwined hands, looking at their plain wedding bands, which are shining in the soft overhead lighting. “Is it that easy to add you? Don’t you have to be voted in?”

Evan shakes his head. “Apparently, the way my great-grandpa wrote the bylaws, the chairman can add a seat at any time without calling a vote, provided that the nominee is a ‘direct descendant.’ They bypass the nominating committee.”

“That’s medieval.”

“Yeah, well.”

“What else is your dad doing to stop the takeover?”

“From what I’ve been hearing, they’re thinking a golden parachute,” Evan says. “Basically they give all the top executives huge severance packages in case of a takeover, which means that the Birches would have to pay out like three hundred million in severance, which they’re not gonna want to do. I also think they were saying something about a poison pill, which I don’t understand as well.”

Amir squeezes his hands. “Are you gonna take the board seat?”

“I kind of feel like I have to,” Evan says. “But I told him I was going to think about it.”

“Smart, that way you can leverage him.”

Evan smiles. “Don’t start sounding like one of them.”

“Never. You feeling alright?”

“I’m a little freaked,” Evan admits. “This is a lot.”

“Okay…” Amir strokes the inside of his wrist with his thumb. “You want me to fuck you, tonight? Help you unwind?”

“Yeah… that sounds nice, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Evan grabs him around the waist and squeezes him, making him giggle. “I’m down for that.”

SACRAMENTO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, AUGUST 26, 2039

Mia handles all of the little things so Sunday doesn’t have to, like buying their plane tickets. While she’s doing that, Sunday wanders off, through a pair of automatic doors and out onto a walkway. She leans against a concrete railing and looks at the sun setting over the California scrub for a minute before dialing Julio’s number on her watch.

“Hey,” Julio says when he picks up.

“Hi,” Sunday says. She gets choked up for a moment, then moves past it. “How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you, _cielo_? You want to hang out tonight?”

“I can’t,” Sunday murmurs. “I, um… my mom had a skiing accident. I have to go fly out and see her in Colorado.”

“Oh, shit,” Julio says. “How bad is it?”

“Could be pretty bad… we don’t know yet. It’s a head injury. You remember that rotational fall that Camren had last year? It’s like that, I think.”

“Fucking shit… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Sunday grips the railing, staring over the edge of it at the tiny people walking on the jetway down below. “I just wanted to let you know, in case you can’t reach me.”

“You want me to fly out?”

“No, no. It’s okay.”

Julio sucks his teeth. “I hate thinking you’re going through all that alone.”

“Mia came with me.”

“Ah, alright, good. I’ll pray for your mom, okay?”

Sunday smiles. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I think the main thing is, like… if something happens… I don’t know. We never got closure, I guess.”

“Can I tell you something, though? I don’t think closure is real. I think things just are what they are.”

“That’s depressing.”

“I don’t think so. I think it sets you free.”

Sunday plays with the bracelet on her wrist. “But if there’s no closure, nothing means anything.”

“Everything could be fine,” Julio says. “We’ve seen people come back from bad injuries, right. Last year when Michael took that header off Lobo, I thought for sure he broke his neck, but he got up and walked away without a scratch, you know? _Uno nunca sabe._ ”

“That’s true.”

“You call me if you need me.”

“I will,” Sunday promises.

“ _Cuidate_ , sweetheart.”

“I will. You too.”

THE HAMPTONS, AUGUST 26, 2039

Louis and Zayn keep smoking weed for the next few hours, talking about nothing in particular while they lie side by side in their individual beds, until Zayn goes, “Just come over here and lie with me, yeah?”

Louis laughs and exhales pot smoke into the darkness. “Come get in bed with you?”

“Yeah, what’s the big deal? I’m tired of saying _what_ every five seconds. Can barely hear you over the fuckin’ — what is that next door to us, are we in the room next to the laundry?”

“I think so, yeah, that sounds like a dryer.”

“That, plus you’re upset, I can tell you’re upset. Come have a cuddle.”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to cuddle with me ex-husband when the current one is upset wiv me.”

“Fuck supposed to,” Zayn says. “I’m probably not supposed to kiss you sometimes. Who makes these rules?”

“Again, I think our husbands make these rules, mate.”

“What they don’t know isn’t gonna hurt ‘em.”

“Did you even call Harry?” Louis says, inhaling what’s left of the joint and then discarding the roach in the cup on his bedside table. “Say goodnight to him and the girls?”

“Yeah, I rang him when I was out smoking.”

“Good. Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say goodnight to the boys.”

“They’ll live. You were just gone for half a year on tour.”

“I know, that’s why I should make sure to say goodnight to them.”

“It’s probably not too late.”

“No, it is, they go to bed early, they get up so early for school. I wonder if Payno’s gone to bed…”

“He didn’t want to talk to you, remember?”

“Ouch,” Louis says, laughing, but he’s genuinely stung.

“I’m just saying,” Zayn says. “Give the man his space. He never asks for space from you.”

“Yeah, I got lucky with him.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m just saying. I’m not the sort of person who wants much space.” Louis stares up at the dark ceiling, stoned, his lips buzzing. Somewhere in the house, a dog barks. “What time is it in England?”

“Five-thirty in the morning. You’re not ringing your family or Oli.”

“I was just asking.”

“I know you.”

Louis sits up, his head spinning, then gets out of bed and goes over to Zayn, crawling in bed next to him. “For the record, this doesn’t mean anythin’.”

“I know it doesn’t, freak,” Zayn says. “I’m happily married. C’mere.”

He pulls Louis close, and they cuddle up together. It is comforting, Louis has to admit. Zayn smells good and feels familiar. They’ve spent so many nights like this; the muscle memory comes flooding back.

Zayn strokes his hair and nuzzles at his neck.

“Stop,” Louis warns him. “I’ll go back to my bed.”

“No, don’t.” Zayn stops nuzzling him, but keeps playing with his hair. “Just trying to put you to sleep.”

“Uh-huh. If you get hard, I’m leaving.”

“Think that highly of yourself, huh?”

“No, I just know you, Zayn Malik.”

“You do?”

“I know what gets you going,” Louis says, laughing. “Dark rooms an’ pajamas… dysfunction… musty rich people smell…”

“Oh, yeah, you got me there.”

They fall quiet, and Zayn kisses him on the head.

“Liam loves you,” he says. “More than anything in the world, mate. A world where Liam genuinely doesn’t want to talk to you doesn’t make any sense to me. He’s just being superstitious ‘cos he feels guilty.”

“I feel guilty too,” Louis whispers, squeezing the bedsheet in his fist.

“Get some sleep,” Zayn murmurs.

VAIL SKI RESORT, COLORADO, AUGUST 26, 2039

The ICU at Vail’s hospital is nice, with wood paneling and wood floors, exactly like you’d expect from a resort town hospital. It’s also completely deserted by the time they arrive at 11 p.m. The only people they see in the halls are nurses.

“Is it past visiting hours?” Mia whispers to Sunday, breaking into a half-jog to keep up with her. Sunday is striding down the halls at a clip on her long legs.

“No,” Sunday whispers back. “John said they don’t have set visiting hours.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

They see John himself as they turn the corner. He’s leaning on a wall, looking disheveled, with his hand pressed to his mouth.

“John,” Sunday calls.

He looks up, then starts striding over to meet her, and brings her into a hug. Mia moves awkwardly off to the side and observes them; Sunday looks surprised to be hugged, and raises her eyebrows at Mia over John’s shoulder.

“You know, you’re the closest thing I have to a daughter,” he says, sounding emotional.

Sunday’s eyes get huge, and she shoots a panicked look at Mia, who bites down so she doesn’t laugh. She knows perfectly well that Sunday isn’t close with John like that.

“It’s okay,” Sunday says, awkwardly patting him on the back. “So, um… did the doctors say anything else?”

John sniffs and draws back from her. “They did a craniectomy to relieve the swelling,” he said. “It went well, they said. She’s in an induced coma now… she’s probably going to stay in that for a few days.”

“What’s a craniectomy?” Sunday says, staring at John, her eyes still wide.

“They took — they took part of her skull off, honey.”

“Oh,” Sunday says, clapping her hands to her mouth.

Without thinking about it, Mia goes over and wraps her arms around her, burying her face in her shoulder. Sunday squeezes her back.

“I just wanted to warn you,” John continues, sounding tired. “When you go in to see her… she’s not awake, and her head is shaved, and bandaged.”

“Okay,” Sunday says in an odd voice. “Will they put — are they gonna put her skull back?”

“Yes, at some point, but they needed to relieve the swelling.”

“Do we know if she has brain damage?”

“We won’t know for sure until the swelling goes down,” John says. “The doctors are hopeful. They got her into surgery very quickly.”

Sunday nods. Mia lets her go. “How hopeful?” she says, wiping her eyes quickly with her sleeve.

“They say the best case scenario is mild effects, things might require some physical or occupational or speech therapy, depending on what part of the brain was most impacted,” John says. “Worst case scenario… well, you know what the worst case scenario is.”

“And how did this happen?” Sunday says, her voice getting a little clipped.

“We were skiing, Sunday. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“In August, though?”

“Vail practically runs on snow machines these days,” John says. “Look, your mom loves to ski, and her ski snapped, and she fell and hit her head. That’s all. We weren’t taking any bigger risks than you take every day on your horse.”

Sunday shoots him a look. “Where are my grandparents?” she says. “Are they coming out?”

“I talked to your grandfather, and he doesn’t want your grandmother to know. She hasn’t been well lately. So he’s just waiting until we know more, I guess.”

Sunday looks like she wants to say something, but stops herself. “What about Uncle Dick?”

“I wouldn’t wait around for Dick,” John says. “He’s not the most stable or reliable person.”

“Yeah. Well. I’m gonna go see her, now.”

John points at the room they’re standing in front of, which is obscured from view by a curtain. “Talk to her,” he says. “They can hear you sometimes, people in comas.”

Sunday nods and walks away from them, pushing past the curtain.

John turns to Mia. “So, you’re…”

Mia extends her hand to shake. “Mia.”

“Right.” He shakes it. “One of Louis’ kids.”

“Yep.”

“Nice of you to come out,” John says.

“Of course,” Mia says. She clears her throat. “I’m so sorry about, uh. You know.”

John nods. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

They stand there, both unsure of what to say.

“How many siblings do you have, again?” John says.

“How many...” Mia blinks at him. “Uh, six, including Sunday.”

“Do you include Sunday?”

“Well — yeah. I’ve lived with her since I was little.”

“Right. That’s nice, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

They go quiet again, and Mia glances at her watch. She texted Louis and Liam that they had landed safely in Colorado, and they both liked the text, but she has no other notifications. She doesn’t even know if Amir knows what happened, yet — Louis said he’s deep in a marital powwow with Evan. She doesn’t like how scattered everyone is, right now. Nothing good ever seems to happen when they are.

Liam said he told the twins once he got home with Patrick, and they weren’t sure how to take the news. Mia can’t blame them.

In the silence, she listens for any sound coming from Ceci’s room, but all she hears are machines whirring. If Sunday is talking to her mom, she isn’t doing it out loud.

*

When they get to their hotel, Mia takes the lead again, confirming their reservation with the front desk and making sure all of their luggage gets onto the luggage cart, then steering Sunday along with a hand on the small of her back. Sunday is numb. She feels like a cannonball got shot through her stomach.

She goes and sits on the bed closest to the door in their hotel room while Mia putters around, figuring out how the TV remote and the shower work.

“Sunday?” she calls from the bathroom after a while.

It takes Sunday a moment to find her voice. “Yeah.”

“You hungry?”

“No. It’s late, we should sleep.”

Mia comes back into the room, her face freshly washed and her hair down from its ponytail. “Okay.” She yawns. “I texted the dads that we got to our hotel okay.”

“Okay.”

Mia kneels beside her bed and settles her face on the edge of the it, her mouth buried in the crook of her elbow. With the bottom half of her face covered, she’s a dead ringer for Louis, besides the sheet of sleek black hair. The top half of her face is all his, the bottom all Zayn’s. Sunday is the same way. She has Liam’s eyes and nose and cheekbones, and her mom’s mouth and chin and jaw.

This chokes her up to think about. She keeps forgetting that her mom is lying comatose with her head shaved. All of her beautiful chestnut hair, gone. One of her few warm childhood memories of her mom is of Cecilia hugging her while Sunday buried her face into her hair where it fell against her neck.

“You okay?” Mia says gently. Tears have started streaming down Sunday’s face.

“No,” Sunday admits.

Mia gets up and sits next to her, stroking her hair.

“I don’t want her to die,” Sunday chokes out, swiping at her eyes. “Especially not like this. Not when we haven’t worked anything out.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. Everything was fine this afternoon. We were at Jack in the Box.”

“I know.”

“It’s so stupid,” Sunday says. “Who skis in August?”

“People who like to ski,” Mia says.

Sunday chokes out a laugh.

“You should eat, though. Want me to see if there’s stuff in the minibar? You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I had nuts on the plane,” Sunday sniffs.

“Nuts aren’t food. You eat like a squirrel.” Mia gets up and kneels in front of the minibar, opening the little fridge door and pulling out something packaged. “You like tuna, right? Here’s a, uh… fuck. A fifteen dollar tuna sandwich.”

“Put it back.”

“Oops,” Mia says, deliberately ripping open the wax paper. “Too late. You have to eat it now, they’ll charge us for it either way.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I know. You want a soda?”

Sunday shakes her head. “Just water. Thanks.”

Mia nods and turns back to the fridge. “Jesus, the sodas are ten dollars. Water’s only nine, though.”

“Great,” Sunday says, choking out another laugh. “Best news I’ve gotten all day.”

Mia glances at Sunday like she isn’t sure she’s allowed to laugh, then starts giggling, and soon they’re both cracking up.

SACRAMENTO, AUGUST 27, 2039

Patrick hits snooze on his alarm at least three times every morning, and relies on Max or Liam or Louis to actually get him up. Today, though, he’s hit snooze five times before he realizes something is wrong. It’s 7:32, so they’ve missed the bus, and Liam hasn’t come to yell at him yet.

He rolls out of bed, rubbing his eyes, and goes down the hall to Max’s room, banging on his door.

Max yells incoherently, then opens the door about ten seconds later. His hair is standing straight up from bedhead. “What?” he says sleepily.

“Dude, it’s seven-thirty,” Patrick says. “We missed the bus. Did Dad wake you?”

“Nah, no… you sure it’s that late?”

Patrick heads off down the hall toward his parents’ room, feeling a little nervous. Max follows on his heels. He bangs on their bedroom door with a flat hand. “Dad!”

A moment goes by, and then they hear a quiet groan of, “What?”

“We missed the bus,” Patrick yells, feeling relieved. Hearing that shit last night about Sunday’s mom spooked him. “Why didn’t you wake us?”

“Uh… hang on, just come in…”

Patrick opens the door and peeks in. Liam is sitting with his legs over the side of the bed, his face buried in his hands.

“It’s Sunday, today,” Liam murmurs.

“Nah, it’s Monday,” Max says.

Liam lifts his head. His eyes are deeply puffy, and the rest of his face is a little puffy, too. He stares at them for a moment, his face unreadable, then says in a hoarse voice, “Alright, sorry, boys. My bad, I’ll drive you. Go get ready.”

Patrick scans the room and notices an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the bedside table. “We’re gonna be late for first period,” he says. “We’ll need late passes.”

“I’ll tell them we had car trouble, alright? Go get ready.”

Patrick pulls the door shut and turns to Max, who seems unperturbed. “Hey.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it just me or was he, like, super hungover?”

“Oh,” Max says, looking surprised. “Was he?”

“Looks like he killed a whole bottle of whiskey, you didn’t see that?”

“Sorry, I’m not an expert on alcohol like you are,” Max says sarcastically.

“Oh, please, you go to parties too,” Patrick scoffs. “Just ‘cos you play Mr. Good Boy and you don’t drink…”

“Alright, look, so he drank a lot last night, is it that so bad?” Max puts his hands together in a kind of prayer gesture, then rubs his palms back and forth. “I mean, he seemed pretty upset about Sunday’s mom.”

“It’s just weird,” Patrick says. “He always wakes us up every single day for school.”

Max shrugs. “Maybe we should text Dad.”

“No, no way. I mean, you can if you want to, but I’m not.”

“Why not?”

Patrick shrugs. “From me it sounds like snitching. From Saint Max it’s no big deal.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true. Everything I do is suspicious, everything you do is great.”

“Maybe you should stop trying to get away with shit all the time,” Max challenges. “Did you ever think about that? That I’m not trying to get away with shit?”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you tell them you have a girlfriend?”

Max looks taken aback. “‘Cos they’re busy right now,” he says. “It’s not the right time.”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says, heading off down the hall toward his room.

“It’s not!”

*

The boys are already waiting in the Escalade with the AC and radio blasting by the time Liam staggers out of the house, wearing sunglasses and a cap over his fucked-up hair.

As he gets in the car, he winces and turns the radio down. Patrick, who fought Max for shotgun, glances over at him.

“You hungover, Dad?” he says.

Liam sighs as he selects Elk Grove Country Day School from the car’s list of frequent locations. “Please don’t start with me, Paddy.”

“What do you mean, start with you?”

“You know what I mean.”

Patrick turns to Max in the backseat. Max looks up from his phone and mouths, “Leave it alone.”

“Max has a girlfriend,” Patrick announces. “He’s been dating her for two weeks and he didn’t say anything.”

“Paddy!” Max exclaims. “Quit it!”

Liam starts rubbing at his temples. “Boys, I honestly just don’t have it in me today.”

“Don’t say boys,” Max says. “It’s just Paddy.”

“Then Paddy, quit shit-stirring.”

“I thought that was a rule,” Patrick says. “We have to tell you if we get a boyfriend or girlfriend, and you guys have to meet them.”

“It is a rule,” Liam says, staring out the windshield as they roll down their endless driveway, the horse paddocks going by on their right. “And Max, I’m not happy to hear about this, and when Louis gets back, we’re gonna talk about it.”

“Okay,” Max mumbles, before leaning forward to sock Patrick in the arm.

Patrick hits him back.

“Knock it off,” Liam bellows at them. “Seriously, I swear to God, not today. Just not today. Knock it off.”

They both fall quiet. Patrick stares out the windshield, feeling nauseated and unsettled for a reason he can’t identify.

THE HAMPTONS, AUGUST 27, 2039

Louis wakes up drowsily, and realizes after a few moments that he’s lying back-to-back with Zayn. He gets up to pee, checks the time (5 a.m. — cheers jet lag) and heads back to bed.

Zayn has rolled over and is peeking at him with sleep-squinty eyes. “Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Hi,” Louis says. “Go back to sleep. It’s early.”

Zayn lifts the covers up for him, and Louis slides back in.

“This is inappropriate,” Louis reminds him.

Zayn presses a quick kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t make me snog you.”

“Zayn…”

“What?” Zayn wraps his arms around him, pulling him close. “What’s the problem? Hey, you’re thin, mate. We have to put some timber on you.”

“Let’s go out for breakfast,” Louis says. “Go get waffles or something. This house gives me the creeps.”

“Me too.”

They cuddle closer and start falling back asleep, their breathing slowing. Louis’ mind wanders, his thoughts dissolving into little nothings.

“I miss you sometimes,” Zayn whispers.

“I’m always right here,” Louis whispers back.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“Part of me always thought we might work it out,” Zayn says. “Even after you asked for the divorce, even after you hired a lawyer…. I was like, ‘e’s not serious. He’ll come around. Especially after I got sober for good.”

“I had to do it, love.”

“I know you did.”

“I didn’t want to grow to hate you.”

“I know.”

“I hated arguing with you,” Louis murmurs. “I still hate arguing wiv you. I always just want you to understand me.”

Zayn sighs and holds him tighter.

*

The second time Louis wakes up, it’s because someone is pounding on the bedroom door.

“Dads!” Amir shouts. “Yo! Get up. Me and Evan are going into town, we want to get out of here.”

Louis blinks hard and looks at his watch. It’s ten now.

“Alright,” he yells back. “We’re up, we’re up. Wait for us.”

“Let me in, then!”

Zayn rolls out of the bed and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door. Louis can hear him peeing as he gets up and goes to the door.

Amir is standing in the hallway with bedhead and a very visible hickey. Louis taps it with his finger and says, “You’re gonna need to put makeup on that. Fuck’s sake.”

Amir rolls his eyes and pushes past him into the room. “I know. Blame Evan.”

“Where is Evan?”

“He went to go talk to Rachel about something.” Amir glances between the two beds, then says, “Wait, did you guys sleep in the same bed?”

“No,” Louis says quickly.

“But this one doesn’t look slept in,” Amir says, pointing at Louis’. 

“I made it up.”

“But you were asleep when I knocked, Dad.”

“Listen,” Louis says. “I need to tell you something I found out last night. Sunday’s mum is hurt, she’s in hospital in Colorado. She hit her head skiing, or something. She might die.”

Amir glances up at him, his eyes wide. “Whoa, are you serious?”

“Completely serious, yeah.”

“Are you gonna go home?”

“No,” Louis says, frustrated. The sink starts running loudly in the bathroom, and they can hear water splashing as Zayn washes his face. “Your dad doesn’t want me home, and Sunday doesn’t want me with her in Colorado, so, no, I’ll stay here with you, for now.”

“Shit,” Amir says, running his hand through his hair, his gold wedding band glinting among the black. “That’s crazy. Jesus.”

“I know. You ought to text Sunday and let her know you’re thinking of her.”

“I will, yeah. By the way, I didn’t forget about you guys sleeping in the same bed, but nice redirect.”

“Oh, Amir… we were high, and lonely, and your dad and I are good friends, alright? It was innocent, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m just saying,” Amir says. “You don’t need to _add_ to my divorce-related trauma.”

Louis laughs. “Not my intention. Oi... you know how much I love you, right?”

Amir seems caught off-guard. His normal expression of surly suspicion is replaced with little-boy cheer, for a second. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I think so. Why?”

“Good. Just checking.”

Zayn comes out of the bathroom, then, looking unfairly handsome for having just woken up. “Morning,” he says to Amir, as he’s pulling on a pair of trousers from his suitcase. “You planning to do something about that hickey?”

“Yes, Dad!”

“Just checking.”

“So, wait, Liam told you not to come back?” Amir says, turning back around to Louis. “But I thought he didn’t even want you to come out here in the first place, since you just got back from tour.”

“It’s complicated, love,” Louis says.

“Complicated married people shit,” Zayn adds, glancing down as he cinches up his watch.

“But I’m married now too,” Amir complains.

“You’re a rookie,” Louis says. “We’ve been in this game since before you were even born. We’re old pros.”

“Been in it since exactly six months before you were born, in fact,” Zayn says, smiling.

Amir makes a grossed-out face.

“Your dad’s always been proud of himself for rushing me to the altar pregnant,” Louis says. “Not quite sure why.”

Zayn just winks at him.

“Please,” Amir says, and gags.

Zayn reaches up to squeeze his son’s shoulder. “Tommo, hurry up, get ready so we can get out of here. I swear to God this place’s haunted.”

*

Downstairs in the foyer, they meet up with Evan, who looks a little more cheerful than he did last night.

“Morning,” he says to them. “You guys wanna just walk into East Hampton? I can probably get us breakfast reservations somewhere. Or we could drive down to Main Beach, they just put in a boardwalk. I have parking passes for like, the whole island.”

“I want to go to Ralph Lauren,” Amir says.

“And spend what money?” Zayn says to him. “You think we’re gonna give you more money, mister blows through twenty grand of pocket change in eight months? Whose money you plannin’ to spend at Ralph Lauren, huh?”

“Evan’s,” Amir jokes.

Evan laughs. “What money do _I_ have?” He turns the pockets of his board shorts inside out to punctuate this.

“So breakfast’s on us, then, I reckon,” Louis says, laughing too.

“We could also just eat here and like, hang out at the pool,” Evan says, shrugging.

“Your family gonna be hanging out at the pool?” Zayn says.

“Yeah.”

“Then no.”

“Actually, uh…” Evan blushes under his sunburn. “They didn’t have a chance to ask you guys last night, ‘cos everything was crazy, but my parents want to talk to you guys tonight. My dad’s gonna be in the city all day, but he’ll be back in the evening. If that’s cool.”

“Talk to us about what?” Louis says.

“I’m guessing the postnup?” Evan shrugs. “But he didn’t say.”

“The postnup ain’t any of our business,” Zayn says. “That’s between you two.”

“Your lawyers looked at it, though,” Evan says.

“No, _my_ lawyers looked at it,” Louis says. “Zayn’s, y’know. Disengaged as usual.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, but he doesn’t really sound that offended.

“I don’t know, honestly,” Evan says. “My dad likes to give me as few specifics as possible.”

“That seems calculated,” Louis says.

“It is.”

Louis’ watch dings, and he glances down at it. It’s a text from Niall. _hey are u in the hamptons ???? just saw your insta story_

_yeah, why?_ , he texts back.

_im in montauk! me and win and jamie_

_oh shit youre not serious lad!!! want to get breakfast with us?_

“Niall’s in Montauk,” he says aloud.

“Is he?” Zayn says, with mild interest, like Louis said it might rain later.

“Yeah! Let’s meet up with him. I haven’t seen him in ages.”

Zayn shrugs. “Alright.”

“Sound less excited about seeing your friend of twenty-five years,” Louis says.

Zayn counts on his fingers. “I reckon friend for five, friend of my husband’s for another five, friend of my other husband’s for the last, er… how long have me and Harry been married?”

“Not my number to keep track of,” Louis says drily.

“Alright, well, how old’s Toni? She just turned twelve, yeah? And we got married in September?”

“Yeah, she’s twelve,” Amir confirms.

“Friend of my other husband’s for eleven,” Zayn says, still counting on his fingers. “What’re we up to? Twenty-one?”

“Anyway,” Louis says, ignoring him. “Breakfast with Niall, then. Where’s good for breakfast, Evan?”

Evan looks a little nervous about being caught in the middle of this light-hearted argument. “Uh… The Ginger Inn is good? They do weird waffles. Like with edible lavender and stuff.”

Zayn shrugs. “I’d eat some lavender.”

“Aces, I’ll text Niall.” As they all head for the door, Louis flicks his watch display back down, and notices a text from Max. He pauses to read it.

_just want to tell you that dads was pretty hung over this morning and over slept and forgot to get us up for the bus. I didnt think it was a big deal but paddy thought you should know but he didnt want to text u becus he thought it was snitching_

As soon as he’s done reading this, Max starts typing again. Louis waits patiently, despite nerves spiking in his heart. He follows along behind Zayn as they walk out into the bright sunny day.

_i gess that is kind of snitching on paddy tho,_ Max says.

_Guess*,_ Louis writes back. Normally he wouldn’t bother at a time like this, but Max’s spelling is worryingly atrocious. They used to think he was dyslexic, but they had him tested, and he’s not, he just can’t spell for shit.

_sorry. i guess_

_You’re not snitching,_ Louis texts back. _Don’t worry about that. Did you get to school alright?_

_yeah were in first period now_

_okay love. Your dad’s fine, don’t worry. He’s just upset and he’s handling it the best he can. I’ll be home soon. You and Paddy text me whenever you need me_

_also i have a girlfriend and i didnt tell you guys about it but paddy told dads in the car this morning,_ Max adds. _sory_

Louis sighs aloud. _We’ll talk about that when I get home_

_ok :)_

“Are we walking to this restaurant?” Louis says, as they crunch over the pea gravel. Four Stewarts are playing doubles tennis in the court on the other side of the driveway, Kitty among them. Louis reminds himself to tell Zayn about Kitty musically propositioning him; he’ll get a good laugh out of that.

“Yep, if that’s cool with you guys,” Evan says.

Amir turns to Louis and Zayn and, without saying anything, pulls a pair of sunglasses out of each of his pockets and hands them to his parents.

“Cheers,” Louis says, slipping a slightly squashed baseball cap out of his shorts pocket and pulling it over his head. “You need a hat, Zayn?”

“Nah,” Zayn says. “People don’t clock me as well with the gray in.”

“But you’ve been going gray for years.”

“People are stupid.”

Amir laughs. “Even if they don’t clock you guys, they’re gonna clock Evan,” he says. “There are paps, like, camped around the perimeter of the property, we saw them when we got in yesterday.”

Evan stops dead in his tracks, a foot from the iron-wrought gate. “Shit, I forgot. Maybe we should take a car.”

To Louis’ surprise, Zayn moves past him and pushes the gate open. “You’re gonna have to get used to that at some point, being married to Amir,” he says. “Might as well start now.”

He claps Evan on the shoulder and ushers him along, which for Zayn is downright affectionate. Louis smiles at him as he follows Amir out.

“Good dad-in-law,” he says. “Good boy.”

Zayn gives him the finger.

*

They do get papped along their walk, but it’s a subtle papping, wholly unlike what they’d get in Los Angeles. No one even yells at them, and no flashbulbs go off. Louis can only tell what’s happening because of decades of fame that have trained his peripheral vision to watch out for scurrying guys dressed in all black, and trained his ears to listen for the click of shutters.

Niall said he was going to drive, so Louis isn’t surprised to see he’s beaten them there and commandeered a large and private booth at the back of the restaurant. Louis collars him in a massive hug as soon as he sees him, and they stand there for a long moment, gripping each other and swaying back and forth.

“I have so much shit to tell you about this whole Amir, Harry, Jeff Azoff thing,” Louis whispers. “But in private, like, ‘cos I need to be able to talk shit.”

Niall claps him on the back. “Got you,” he whispers back.

Louis draws away from him and looks around. “Where are Winnie and Jamie?”

“Down the beach,” Niall says. “They already had breakfast without me hours ago, they went to go look for shells. Jamie really wants to see Amir, though, if you lot want to meet back up later. Speaking of…” He goes around Louis and pulls Amir into a hug, laughing. “Congratulations! Fuckin’ married!”

Amir laughs too. “How shocked were you?”

“Oh, I just feel old, lad! Y’know, I remember when you were, like…” Niall draws back from him and motions the general size of a loaf of bread. “This big.” He squeezes Evan’s shoulder. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Evan says, smiling.

They all take their seats in the booth, and Niall finally notices Zayn. “‘Ey ‘ey!” he says. “I didn’t even think you were coming.”

Zayn looks up from his menu. “I’m here,” he says defensively.

“Well, good to see you, mate.”

Niall is very tan and seems to be in a great mood for no particular reason. Louis is very relieved to see him; he’s like a human antidote for the Stewarts.

Louis nudges Zayn, who ended up next to him. “If I get the chicken and waffles, will you eat my pickle?”

“Just ask for no pickle. I want pancakes, I’m not eating a pickle with my pancakes.”

“Please?”

“The —” Zayn sighs. “Fine.”

“Should we have security right now, by the way?” Niall says.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Louis says. “Who’s in the Hamptons, anyway? Rich old WASPs? What do they care about us?”

On the side of the booth opposite to him, Evan looks pale and is staring into space, breathing sort of fast. Amir notices this and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Evan says with difficulty. “I’m just, uh… I feel, um.” He gets abruptly to his feet and leans on the table. “Claustrophobic.”

“Breathe more slowly,” Zayn says to him.

Evan nods and presses a hand to his sternum. “Yeah,” he says, then sinks into a squat beside their table. The older couple sitting in the booth across from theirs glances over at him. “Hey, uh, I’m probably not having a heart attack, right?”

“You’re havin’ a panic attack,” Zayn says, then makes a megaphone with his hands. “ _Breathe more slowly_ ,” he repeats, like Evan doesn’t speak English very well.

Amir rubs Evan’s shoulder. “You want to go outside a second?” he says, inclining his head toward the balcony of the restaurant, which overlooks the water.

Evan nods, and Amir helps him to his feet and guides him outside. The open door lets a gust of August heat into the frigid air-conditioned restaurant before clicking shut behind them.

Zayn looks back down at his menu. “Lobster waffle?” he says to no one in particular. “That sounds sort of nasty, yeah?

“Is he alright, Evan?” Niall says to Louis, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table.

“More or less, I think,” Louis says. “He’s got a lot of family stress right now.”

He peeks out the window at the balcony. Evan is leaning on the railing of it, while Amir stands next to him, stroking his hair and talking to him.

“Oh, fuck,” Louis says, slapping his hand down across the table so his palm covers the back of Niall’s. “Nialler. Jesus. Totally forgot to tell you — Ceci’s in hospital. Did Liam say anything?”

“No, I haven’t heard from him,” Niall says, his brow furrowing. “What happened?”

“She had a skiing accident,” Louis says. “It’s bad, like. She’s not conscious, and they dunno if she’s gonna wake up.”

“Holy shit,” Niall says, whipping his sunglasses off his head. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, dead serious. Sunday flew out last night to be with her. I haven’t heard from her yet today, but it’s still early over there. Anyway, Liam’s, like…” Louis shakes his head. “I don’t think he’s handling it well. But he doesn’t want me to fly back.”

Niall runs a hand through his sandy-colored hair. “Fuckin’ shit.”

“I know.”

“How’s Sunday?”

Louis shrugs. “You know how she is — stoic, like. And Mia’s with her, too, she flew out with her. Honestly, I’m almost more concerned about Liam.”

“Really?”

“Well, he’s sort of…” Louis trails off, and both Niall and Zayn look at him, like, what? “I got a text from Max when we were leaving, a few minutes ago. He said Liam overslept this morning and didn’t get them up for the bus, ‘cos he was hungover, and Paddy was a little worried about it, apparently.”

Niall sucks his teeth. “I get the concern, but… I’d be drinking too, if it was me, lad.”

“Sunday mentioned the other day that he was drinking a lot while I was on tour,” Louis says. “Like, alone.”

Niall inhales and starts to say something, but is interrupted by their waitress coming up to them. “Hi there,” she says, smiling. “I’m Alison, I’ll be your server this morning — are we ready to order?”

“Ah, yeah, I’ll have the chicken and waffles,” Louis says. “With extra pickles, please.”

“Sure thing.”

Zayn kicks him under the table. “Lavender and lemon pancakes,” he says.

“I’ll have the lobster roll,” Niall says, handing over his menu. “Thanks love.”

“Lobster roll?” Louis says, handing his own menu over. “It’s half ten in the morning.”

“That comes with your choice of beer,” Alison says.

“Oh, now I get it.”

Niall laughs. “I’ll have the peanut butter porter.”

“Got it,” she says. “Will that be all?”

“Ah, shit, the boys,” Louis says, glancing out the window at them again. They’re now facing each other, but they still look deep in conversation. “Uh — let’s do another stack of the lavender and lemon pancakes, and a lox bagel. Thanks.”

“Got it,” she says, writing this down and heading off.

“I’ll eat the bagel later if Amir doesn’t,” Louis says. “I never know if he’s in the mood to eat or not.”

Niall runs his hands through his hair, fucking it up. “So you were saying Liam’s drinkin’ a wee bit more than you’d like,” he says.

“I mean, I dunno,” Louis says. “I haven’t noticed anything, which is almost worse, like. Seems like he’s doing it behind me back.”

“Nah, it’s to cope with you being gone, that’s different.”

“Yeah, but it’s a shit coping mechanism.”

Zayn raises two fingers in the air. “Can I say something? You’re probably worried about nothing.”

“Cheers,” Louis says.

“Look, I think you’re just nervy on the topic,” Zayn says. “Got me, got your, er, father. But I don’t see Liam as a drunk. We’re English, we drink loads, we drink to cope, it’s what we do. It’s only a problem if there’s some other problem adding to it. I was trying to delete meself from reality. When I wasn’t drinking, I was on Xans. When I wasn’t on Xans, I was stoned. It wasn’t alcohol existing that was the problem. I would have found another way to fuck up my life. In fact, I probably picked alcohol to abuse ‘cos it gave me social cover, ‘cos we all do it.”

“But Liam’s drank too much before,” Louis counters.

“That’s what I’m _saying_ , we’ve all drank too much at one point or another. Look, we’re not normal people. This is what I told my therapist, way back when. You can’t measure us against the average person, ‘cos we’re not dealing with average person stressors. Everything is magnified, we don’t even belong to ourselves. It’s a lot better these days, granted. I mean, obviously, ‘cos I can sit here in a booth with you two, and nobody’s swarmin’ us. But, still…” Zayn puts his hands in the air. “Y’know.”

“As much as I’d rather not be discussin’ this in public at breakfast,” Niall says, “he’s got a point.”

“It’s the fact that he’s not saying anythin’ to me,” Louis says, hitting the table with his pointer finger. He’s more upset than he realized. “I’ve got to hear about this from me fourteen-year-old sons. What does that say to them, huh, when their dad’s too hungover to wake them up for school? I don’t like that.”

“It’s one morning,” Zayn says. “It’s fine. He didn’t show up at their school blackout drunk and make a scene. He just overslept.”

“I really do agree with Zayn here,” Niall says.

“Of course you do, you’re ‘ere drinking at ten in the morning,” Louis snaps.

“Easy, Lou!” Niall says, laughing. “Shit. It’s one beer.”

Louis puts his face in his hands and groans. “Sorry. I’m ‘avin’ a day. I don’t like being away from home at a time like this.”

“Then go home,” Zayn says impatiently, like he’s a moron.

“I’ll go tomorrow. I’ve got to stay with you through tonight, so we can have this stupid talk with the Stewarts.”

“We can just blow that off, who cares?”

“I care! I care about our son! Remember our son? The entire reason we’re here?”

Zayn sighs and sips his coffee. “Alright.”

“I’d appreciate a little more cooperation from you,” Louis says to him. “I don’t like being the one holding everything together all the time. It’s not fair.”

“I’m being as cooperative as I can be, mate,” Zayn says. “You want more from me, get a new ex-husband.”

Louis snorts. “Nice.”

Zayn puts a hand on his thigh and squeezes him. “I’ll eat your pickles,” he whispers.

Louis rolls his eyes, and finds they’re prickling with tears, for some reason. He stares up at the ceiling and blinks them back. Niall pretends to be engrossed in his phone.

They’re interrupted, then, by Evan and Amir coming back to the table. Evan has more color in his face, and Amir is being tender with him, keeping a hand on his shoulder as they slide back into the booth.

“Hey,” Amir says. “Did you guys order yet?”

“Yeah, got Evan the lavender pancakes, got you a lox bagel,” Louis says.

“Perfect.”

“Everything alright?”

Evan nods. “I think maybe I’m dehydrated,” he says. “From being sunburned.”

Amir pushes a full glass of ice water toward him.

“I don’t like ice water,” Evan says. “I like it regular temperature.”

“Too bad.”

Evan resignedly starts chugging water.

Louis nudges Zayn. “Look at our handsome son. Isn’t he handsome?”

Zayn glances over at Amir. “He needs a haircut,” he says.

“Thanks, Dad,” Amir says sarcastically.

“You’re very handsome. You need a haircut, is all I said.”

“Wanna buzz my head, if I can find some clippers?”

“Don’t buzz your head,” Louis says. “Just go get a haircut like a normal person.”

“If you want a buzz, go to a barber,” Zayn says. “Quit with that doing it yourself shit. You need a proper fade, or you look like a drug dealer.”

Amir looks down at his Voivod t-shirt. “A _drug_ dealer?”

“I like you to look nice,” Zayn says. “That’s all.”

Amir mouths ‘drug dealer’ to himself and shakes his head.

“Niall,” Louis says, in an effort to change the subject. “How is everything? What brings you and Winnie out here?”

“Well, we’ve got a house in Montauk,” Niall says, tucking his sunglasses leg into his shirt. “It’s an investment property, a rental, like, but I like t’ come out once in a while and make sure nobody’s trashed the place, check if t’ roof’s leaking or anything. So we figured, eh, August, beach vacation.”

“You working on any music?”

Niall shrugs. “Always fiddling around with something, but nothing too promisin’ at the moment. I’d like to work with Winnie again, but she’s got her own record in the works right now, so… Dunno. Want to get One Direction back together again? I’m sorta bored, honestly.”

“I think we might have to wait ‘til me and Payno are back on speaking terms, but sure.”

“Christ, Lou,” Zayn says. “He asked you for a bit of space not twelve hours ago, and you’re acting like he threw all your shit on the lawn. One time Harry gave me the cold shoulder for a full week. Amateur hour over here.”

“A _week_?” Niall says. “What’d you _do_?”

“Walked out during an interview we were doing, then got a hot mic moment.”

“Ohh, I remember that whole mess,” Louis says, laughing.

“I do too,” Amir says, sounding annoyed. “Everyone at school kept asking me if you guys were getting a divorce.”

“Have you told Harry about Ceci?” Louis says to Zayn.

Zayn shakes his head. “Why would I?”

“I dunno, he might want to text Liam.”

“Oh. Right. Forgot they talk.”

“I still can’t believe this,” Niall says. “Skiing accident… it’s fucking mental.”

Louis shrugs and stirs his coffee, fighting off a pang of guilt. “Life’s weird like that.”

“Should I text Sunday?” Amir says. “I haven’t yet.”

“Yeah, love, what are you waiting for?”

He gnaws at his lip. “I just dunno what to say.”

“Just tell her you’re thinking of her,” Louis says. “Tell her you’re sorry. Tell her you love her. Ain’t rocket science.”

“Alright,” Amir says reluctantly.

“Good boy.”

Niall meets Louis’ eyes across the table and smiles bracingly at him. Louis smiles back.

ELK GROVE COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL, AUGUST 27, 2039

Halfway into his lunch period, Max spots Patrick across the dome-ceilinged cafeteria, standing in line for snacks with Rodman.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he says to his friends, setting his sandwich down so he can jog over to them. He claps Patrick on the shoulder from behind, interrupting their conversation. “Hey, Rodman, can I get a second with Patrick?”

“Sure, man,” Rodman says.

“Grab me Baked Lays?” Patrick says to Rodman (who jokingly replies “No”) before following Max over to a secluded corner by some trash cans. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to say I texted Dad, I let him know about this morning.”

Patrick shrugs. “Could have texted me that.”

“Okay, are you actually pissed off at me? Seriously?”

“Is it the end of the world if somebody’s pissed off at you?” Patrick taunts him.

“What is your _problem_ lately?”

“Nothing. I don’t have one. I’m just sick of always being the asshole.”

“You’re not always the asshole.”

“Do you think if I hid that I had a girlfriend, they’d be okay with it?” Patrick says, his dark eyes glinting. “No. But you’re not even gonna get in trouble, I guarantee it.”

“You don’t know that! And it’s not my fault you keep fucking up and getting in trouble, so stop blaming me. It isn’t fair. It sucks, honestly.”

“It isn’t that,” Patrick snaps. “It’s that you never back me up, ‘cos you’re so afraid of people being mad at you. Why aren’t you afraid of _me_ being mad at you? I know why — ‘cos you think I never will be, or it won’t be for long. You think I’ll literally always ride for you no matter what. So yeah, I’m pissed off at you, and I’ll decide how long I’m pissed for, and you can just deal with that.”

He pushes past Max and walks away from him, getting back in line. Max stares after him in disbelief, but Patrick doesn’t turn around, he just starts talking to Rodman again like nothing happened. The only way Max can tell he’s upset is that the tips of his ears and the back of his neck have turned pink.

VAIL, AUGUST 26, 2039

Ceci is just as comatose on Monday as she was on Sunday. She looks peaceful lying in bed with her eyes closed, if you can ignore her bandaged head and ventilator mask.

Sunday sits by her bed with John for a while, until they hear the curtain swish and are joined by an older woman in a lab coat. “Good morning, Mr. Monaghan,” she says to John, then to Sunday: “Hi, I’m Dr. Schenkman, I’m Ms. Marino’s neurologist.”

“Hi,” Sunday says. “I’m her daughter Sunday.”

“Nice to meet you, Sunday.”

Schenkman goes over to Ceci and starts looking at her monitors, making notes as she does, then peels each of Ceci’s eyelids back and shines a penlight into her unseeing eyes, then shakes her head from side to side.

Sunday watches all of this, unnerved. “What are you doing?” she finally blurts out.

“Testing her neurological reflexes,” the doctor says, without looking up.

“Are they okay?”

“Yes, for her condition.”

“What do you mean, her condition?”

Schenkman pinches Ceci on the neck, still not looking up. “For someone in a barbiturate coma.”

“Oh. So is that good, then?”

“It’s hard to say, right now,” Schenkman says. “It’s just something we like to keep track of.”

She takes a seat on a rolly chair by the monitors and scoots it up beside Ceci’s bed, folding her hands.

“Cecilia’s MRI this morning showed that the swelling in her brain is almost completely down,” Schenkman says. “So that’s good. She does have a diffuse axonal injury to the brain, as I told John this morning. That’s the most common type of traumatic brain injury, and it appears to be a grade one, which is the most mild. We thought her injuries would be more severe than that.”

“That’s good,” Sunday says, relieved. “So when can she wake up?”

“Well, we’re going to give her another day or so to rest, and then we’ll try to bring her out of the coma and see how she reacts. I know she was able to follow a few non-verbal commands yesterday, so that’s a good sign.”

“Oh. She was?”

Schenkman nods. “Before we administered the coma, yes.”

Sunday looks at John. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I didn’t think to, sorry,” he says. “Everything is a blur.”

Sunday turns back to the doctor. “What if she doesn’t react when you try to wake her up?”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Schenkman says. “A DAI can itself result in a coma that lasts up to a week or longer… if we get there, and she’s non-responsive, then we’ll start discussing your options.”

A chill settles over Sunday. “Options like what?”

“Like long-term care, potentially.”

“Like if she’s a vegetable?”

“Sunday,” John whispers. “Not now, please.”

Schenkman loops her stethoscope back around her neck and gives Sunday a kind smile. “Let’s just take things one day at a time. We’ll do another MRI tomorrow morning, and see if the swelling is all gone, and if it is, we’ll try rousing her, and then go from there. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sunday says, feeling numb.

*

Mia comes back a little while later with coffee and bagels. Sunday joins her out in the hall as soon as she gets back.

“Sorry,” Mia says, handing her a coffee from a cardboard tray and shifting the bag of bagels under her arm. “The only Einstein’s I could find was back at the resort, and the line took forever...”

“It’s fine,” Sunday says, sipping her coffee. She hates the antiseptic smell of the ICU; it smells like diapers, to her. “Thanks for going out.”

“Of course,” Mia says, studying her face. “How are you doing?”

Sunday shrugs. She hates being asked that. “I’m fine. Her, like, brain doctor talked to us.”

“And?”

“I guess it was kind of good news, maybe, like her brain injury isn’t as bad as it could be, but nothing’s for sure. They have to wait and see if she’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Mia says, nodding. “Okay.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“True, yeah, I get that. Want a bagel?”

Sunday nods. They go over to a pair of chairs that are up against the windowed wall of Ceci’s room, and sit down. Mia unwraps her bagel and hands it to her.

“Thanks,” Sunday says, staring at it in her hand.

“You want me to text Dad and Liam for you?” Mia says. “Update them?”

Sunday nods again.

“Okay.”

“I want to get out of here,” Sunday says. “I hate hospitals, and I don’t think John even wants me around. I want to go do something.”

“Sure. Like what?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.”

“Probably not skiing, right?” Mia says.

Sunday glances at her; Mia turns pale and looks sheepish.

“Sorry,” she says. “You know how sometimes I’m not funny?”

“It was a little funny,” Sunday admits.

Mia stifles a laugh, and then Sunday starts laughing genuinely, and before long they’re having a silent crack-up in the hallway, slapping each other’s arms, tears streaming down their faces.

THE HAMPTONS, AUGUST 26, 2039

The five of them meet up with Winnie and Jamie and walk the boardwalk for a while, eating ice cream and pretending not to notice that people are taking stealthy cell phone photos of them. Then Winnie finds a little art gallery and abandons them to do some art buying, and Amir says, “Hey, can we go skateboarding?”

So that’s how Zayn, Louis and Niall end up hanging out along the fenceline of a Montauk skatepark, watching Evan and Amir clumsily tool around on rented skateboards while they try to teach Jamie the basics, and rich New York teenagers zip on hoverboards.

Louis finishes the nubby chocolate end of his waffle cone and brushes the crumbs off his hands. Amir has been trying to demonstrate a kickflip for about five minutes now, and each failed attempt makes him and Evan laugh harder, while Jamie stands there observing all this in wide-eyed fascination. Everyone’s hair is being fluffed wildly by a confluence of ocean and bay breezes.

“Marriage is hard,” Niall declares, apropos of nothing.

Louis glances over at him. Zayn isn’t even paying attention; he’s scrolling through his watch display.

“Everything alright, bruv?” Louis says.

Niall sips his overpriced coffee that he bought at a little stand on the boardwalk. “Oh, yeah. I’m just tryin’ to think of things from Payno’s point of view. I do get it, y’know? Sometimes you want to be left alone on things, but when you’re married, you’re never really alone.”

“Do you want to be left alone, Nialler?”

“Well, no,” Niall says uncomfortably. “Just sometimes I miss the single life.”

“Yeah?”

“Not dating, or anything, or clubbing. Just being able to play video games and jam on the guitar all day, y’know, without anyone t’ bother you. Fart in peace, et cetera.”

“That’s why Harry and I give each other space,” Zayn mutters, still looking at his watch.

“I don’t even _want_ space, though, y’know?” Niall says. “I love her so much, she’s my other half. And I don’t want to be away from Jamie, either. It’s just like, oops, I’ve signed me heart away to these two people, forever. Even when I get my alone time, I don’t want it. It’s strange.”

“I get you,” Louis says.

“I should’ve appreciated my freedom more when I had it, is all.”

“You didn’t get married ‘til you were into your thirties, lad,” Louis points out.

“Yeah, but still,” Niall says.

“Dunno, I never wanted any freedom,” Louis says. “Not really. That’s why I like Liam, he never gives me any.”

Zayn snorts.

“What?” Louis says to him.

“That’s not sustainable,” Zayn says. “Sorry. Everyone needs space.”

“Not everyone is you,” Louis snaps.

“Alright then.”

Niall clears his throat and says, “Lou, you have to understand, he loves you so much. And he probably loved you a little bit the whole time he was with Ceci.”

“I do get that,” Louis says hotly.

“So loving you hurts him to think about, right now, and he loves you so much that he can’t even talk to you, ‘cos it hurts. I think that’s romantic, honestly!”

“You think my husband refusin’ to speak to me is romantic?”

“Louis, get a grip,” Zayn says, lifting his sunglasses. “He’s not _refusing_ to speak to you.”

“He hasn’t texted me all morning!”

“Ooh, better call Dan Wootton,” Zayn says sarcastically.

Niall snorts, and Louis hits him in the arm.

“It’ll be okay,” Niall says to him, wincing.

Louis is quiet, staring out over the skate park. He knows it will be, but he’s hurt. He’s so used to Liam’s love being freely available to him, always, in mass quantities. He takes it for granted, in truth. Having that yanked away when all he wants to do is comfort Liam and talk to him is painful.

“Uh, hey,” Amir says, sauntering up to the fenceline with his skateboard in his hand.

“Hey,” Louis says. “You lot ready to go?”

“Well,” Amir says, worrying at his lip with his teeth. He smooths his hair back from his face. “Niall?” he says, sounding sweet and flirty. “You know how I’m your favorite, and I’m the only one of the kids who remembers your birthday, and texts you on your birthday?”

Niall stares at him. “What did youse do to my son?” he demands.

Evan walks up behind Amir, steering Jamie by the shoulders with one hand, his other hand strategically covering Jamie’s mouth and nose.

Jamie is giggling. He’s freckled and adorable, a dead ringer for young Niall with big blue eyes, but he has his mum’s fiery hair and intense brows.

“He had a little whoops,” Amir says, giving Niall a charming smile. “He may have possibly gotten hit in the face by a skateboard.”

Niall sighs. “Where in the face? Has he got all his teeth, still?”

“That’s the good news,” Evan says, “he does in fact have all of his teeth.”

“What happened, then?”

Evan lowers his hand and reveals Jamie’s nose is completely bloody, and still bleeding. Despite this, Jamie is laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

“I’m fine, Da,” he says. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Your mother’s going to _kill_ me,” Niall groans.

*

Winnie doesn’t kill him, though. They stagger into the beach house, everyone a little more sunburned or sunsick than they were that morning, and Niall announces, “We’re bein’ invaded by the British.”

“And an American,” Evan adds. He’s walking behind them, holding a stack of scratchy paper towels they got out of the skate park bathroom to Jamie’s bloody nose.

Winnie comes down the hall and into the foyer, tracking sand with her bare feet. “Oi!” she shouts upon seeing Jamie.

“Hi love,” Niall says. “He’s taken a skateboard to the nose. I don’t think it’s broken, though.”

“His wee nose? You reprobates!”

“It doesn’t even hurt!” Jamie exclaims again, though no one is listening to him.

“Hi Winnie,” Louis says cheerfully. “How are you, love?”

She wiggles her hand to indicate being neither good nor bad.

“It was _their_ fault,” Niall says, pointing at Evan and Amir.

“Niall!” Amir cries.

“Are you silly in the head?” Winnie says, beckoning Jamie toward her. “You’re blaming two boys half your age?”

Niall hesitates, slipping his hands into his pockets, then says, “Yeah, I’ll double down on that.”

Winnie laughs as she gingerly pulls the blood-encrusted paper towel away from Jamie’s nose. “Alright,” she says, studying him, “it doesn’t look too bad. Come upstairs so I can wipe you off.”

Jamie obediently follows behind her.

Louis feels his watch buzz and glances at it; Mia’s texted him, Amir and Liam an update about Sunday’s mum.

Liam replied _thanks_ and nothing else. And he still hasn’t responded to Louis’ texts, which means he’s actively ignoring them. Louis feels a prickly stab of worry in his chest.

“Have you texted Sunday yet?” Louis says to Amir.

Amir makes an uncomfortable face. “No…”

“Go call her. _Now._ ”

“Dad, it’s so awkward and depressing…”

“I don’t care! Life is awkward and depressing! Fucking call her!”

Amir puts his hands up.

“I can talk to her with you, if you want,” Evan offers.

“There’s a sunroom through there, if you want a bit o’ privacy,” Niall says, indicating a door to their right.

Amir and Evan make a quick exit, clearly fearing more opprobrium from Louis. Once they’re gone, Zayn pats his arse pocket as if looking for his cigarettes, then says, “I’m gonna go smoke.”

“Fine,” Louis snaps at him.

“Chill out,” Zayn instructs him, before heading back out the front door.

As soon as it clicks shut behind him, Niall raises his eyebrows at Louis. “Am I next?”

“My husband is leaving me on read,” Louis says. “Not even on read — on delivered.”

Niall sighs. “Look, Lou… he loves you more than anything in the world, you know that, right? He’d throw himself in front of a train for you.”

“But he’s hurting and he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“He probably doesn’t want to talk to _anyone.”_

“I’m not just anyone!” Louis’ gut is churning like there’s live eels in his stomach.

Niall squeezes his shoulder, then wraps his arm the rest of the way around him, bringing him in for a hug. “What’s all the anxiety? I almost never see you like this.”

Louis squeezes his shirt. “I dunno.”

“You want me to put some tea on?”

“Yeah. Please.”

They head to the kitchen with their arms around each other like they’re nineteen with no concept of personal space again. Niall starts the kettle and motions for Louis to sit down at the island, which he does. There’s a basket full of seashells sitting in front of him; they must be the ones Winnie and Jamie collected earlier. For some reason this makes Louis get very emotional and miss Liam and the twins desperately; his eyes get hot with tears.

“Oh, no,” Niall says. “Don’t start cryin’, the tea’s not ready yet.”

Louis chokes out a laugh. “I can’t have things go bad with Liam,” he says, sniffing. “I hate when we fight. I hate when he’s upset with me.”

“He’s not upset with you, Lou. He’s upset with himself.”

“Because of me.”

“No, ‘cos of himself! It’s not your fault he chose her as a rebound from you, then went right back to you after her.”

“But it’s my fault we broke up in the first place,” Louis says, blinking and letting tears sluice down his cheeks. “I used him as a backup plan ‘cos I was pregnant and scared and alone, and then when I got the chance to make things work wiv Zayn, I just ditched Liam like he was garbage.”

“I don’t think that’s how him or anyone else sees it.”

Louis closes his eyes, sniffling. Waves of repressed bad feelings and fear are bubbling up from deep inside him, and the more he tries to make them stop, the more they come. “He’s the only truly good man I’ve ever gone after,” he says, swallowing over a painful lump in his throat. “I can’t pick men for shit. That’s why I always wanted to end up with a bird. I always thought if I married a man, I’d just end up with someone who’d hurt me.”

Niall’s quiet.

“I have bad taste in them, I do,” Louis says. “When I was a teenager all the blokes I liked were drug dealers and dickheads. Then there was Zayn… not to shit on Zayn, but he caused me a lot of pain over the years.”

“I know he did.”

“After he left the band, I fucked some more dickheads, and really every man I’ve ever found sexy — shitheads and dickheads, to a man. Liam’s the only one I ever was attracted to ‘cos he was nice to me, and steady, and loved me. I don’t even understand why he loves me like he does. And I manage to take it for granted ‘til I get a wake-up call like this, and I get reminded it isn’t guaranteed, and it’s like it’s me worst suspicions confirmed, that I was never worth that in the first place.”

“Look, it’s scary, I get it. Sometimes when me and Winnie fight, I get, like — what’s the word? Triggered? I convince myself she’s about to leave me, or somethin’. Then she comes upstairs with a cup of tea for me like nothing happened, and I remember she’s not like that, she’s in this with me for real, I’m not just a fun diversion for her that she’s bound to get tired of. But that’s what I’m used to, that’s how women always thought of me, before.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, suddenly feeling terrible for Niall, and crying harder despite his efforts to stop. “But you know she loves you, mate. She says so all the time, when you’re not around — she talks about how you’re such a catch, how it was worth it to go through all the shitty relationships she did and her bad first marriage, ‘cos it brought her you. So she feels the same way.”

“Does she say that?” Niall says, sounding pleased. “I mean, I know she thinks so, o’ course, but you know how she is.”

“Scottish?”

Niall laughs. “Wee Scottish, yeah. Not big on the mushy confessions.”

The kettle goes off, and Niall starts fixing two cups of tea after he hands Louis a few sheets of kitchen roll to dry his eyes with.

“I always suspected you and Liam might get together,” he says. “From day one, I mean. ‘Cos there was so much tension between you, I figured there had to be something deeper going on.”

Louis laughs and blows his nose. “I never even saw him like that ‘til years later. I mean, sometimes I did, I’m not blind. But mostly he was just Payno.”

“I think you both saw each other like that more than you realized.” Niall turns back to him and pushes a mug of tea toward him. “And you love each other more than you realize. And you’re gonna be fine.”

“I want to call him,” Louis says.

“Don’t call him if he asked for space.”

“But I want to call him.”

“Lou...”

“I should be able to call him! What if it was an emergency?”

“It’s not an emergency,” Niall says. “Don’t call him.”

“But he’s _mine_ ,” Louis cries, fully aware of how childish he’s being.

“No, he’s his. Liam belongs to Liam. And right now, he has to stay tough for his daughter, and your boys, and I think he probably feels like talking to you is pokin’ at a raw wound. Let him cope how he needs to cope. You’ll see him in a few days.”

Louis lets out a sigh. “Yeah.”

“Drink your tea,” Niall says.

Louis obliges. It’s a good cup of tea, made just the way he likes it. “The other thing is,” he says, “Sunday’s my daughter, too. I should be allowed to talk to him about our daughter when she’s going through somethin’ upsetting.”

“Yeah, but you can’t undo Ceci’s existence,” Niall says. “Especially with Liam, he’s like, a traditional family man. It’s enough of a statement of love for you that he had no problem with you adoptin’ Sunday, and everything. He’s not gonna be able to completely let go of the family they had at one point — I don’t care how shitty Ceci was, he’d see that as disloyal. And you wouldn’t love him the way you do if he wasn’t loyal, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis admits.

“Pick your battles, is all I’m saying.”

“Zayn thinks if Ceci doesn’t make it, Liam and Sunday’ll be crying on my shoulder, but I don’t think so,” Louis says. “I think I’d get shut out, I think I wouldn’t even be asked to the funeral. An’ I respect that, but Liam would need me if that happened, and if he’d refuse me, he’d probably make Sunday feel like she shouldn’t lean on me either, ‘cos she’s so sensitive and polite.” He pauses to reflect. “I know I’m being properly selfish even thinking like this.”

“You are?” Niall says, laughing. “It’s selfish to worry that your loved ones won’t emotionally rely on you when you think they’ll need to? You have a funny sense of what’s selfish, Tommo.”

“Well,” Louis says. “Maybe you’re right.” He sips his tea some more — it’s calming him down.

“Why don’t we just not cross any bridges ‘til we get to them? What did Mims say in her text?”

“I think it was sort of good news, like Ceci’s not guaranteed to be a vegetable like we thought, only possibly gonna be a vegetable.”

“Great,” Niall says bracingly. “Let’s look on the bright side, then. Maybe everything’ll be back to normal in a few days.”

Louis sighs. “Except me and Zayn still have to have a meeting with Evan’s nutter parents where we talk about Amir’s dowry, or whatever, ‘cos my son’s married into the fucking television Mafia, and on top of that he’s got Jeff Bezos trying to climb into bed with him.”

“Azoff,” Niall says.

“Yeah. What did I say?”

“Bezos. Amazon bloke.”

“Whatever.”

Niall laughs. “Well, if shit goes sideways tonight, you’re welcome to come kip here with me and Win. Place has nine bedrooms, and we’re only usin’ two.”

“Cheers. We might take you up on that.”

SACRAMENTO, AUGUST 26, 2039

Max and Patrick usually sit a few rows away from each other on the bus, so they can at any time make eye contact and exchange an eyeroll or knowing look when one of their friends is acting stupid, but today, Patrick sits all the way in the back, and Max sits up front with Ethan.

When the bus stops in front of the gate buried in the thicket of woods that their house is tucked away behind, Max hops off the bus without looking for Patrick, then opens the gate with his handprint and climbs onto his electric scooter. He taps his watch to shuffle his music, but before he can hit play, he hears Patrick calling after him.

Max turns. “What?”

“Hold on,” Patrick says. He picks up his own scooter where it’s laying in the path. “Wait up.”

“I thought you were pissed at me,” Max says.

“Well, maybe I’m not.”

“Yeah?”

Patrick thinks about it. “Alright, I’m still pissed at you, but I still want to hang out with you.”

Max shrugs. “Okay.”

They ease back into their normal dynamic as they ride up the long driveway, talking about sports and music and school. When they’ve reached the sprawling circular driveway and stepped off their scooters, Max says, “So I’m gonna go see if Dads wants some company, if you wanna come with me.”

“When?”

“Right now.”

“No, when did I ask?” Patrick says.

Max rolls his eyes. “Okay, whatever.”

“I don’t see why I have to go make Dads feel better after he was a dick all morning.”

“I dunno, do it for Dad.”

“Do it for Dad,” Patrick repeats. “The same Dad who left for six months, came home, and immediately left again?”

“Fine, do whatever,” Max says, exasperated. “Be mad about everything and just say whatever you want, great, cool.”

“You know what, Max?” Patrick says, putting his hand on the biometric panel by the front door, which swings open. Goose comes running up to greet him, his nails skittering on the hardwood floors. “You worry way too much about everyone else. What everyone else thinks, or wants, or whatever.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is! Why didn’t you tell the dads you have a girlfriend? ‘Cos you thought they’d get upset ‘cos precious Max is growing up, and you can’t stand making anyone upset. Did it ever occur to you that that’s on them? That they need to deal with that shit themselves?”

“Sorry, I’m not like that! I can’t just do whatever I want and feel fine about it!”

“No balls,” Patrick tosses over his shoulder as he heads inside the house, Goose following behind him.

“Hey,” Max yells after him. “I know you’re pissed ‘cos we’re growing up and we’re different people now, but guess what, Paddy? I haven’t changed at all. _You_ changed! And you’re just mad I didn’t change too! You think I’m gonna keep being your sidekick when you’re doing stuff I don’t agree with, ‘cos it’s bad and wrong? You think I’m gonna smoke weed and drink and get in trouble just ‘cos you are? That’s not who I am!”

“You don’t have to drink to have balls!” Patrick yells back, heading up the stairs. “That’s not what I’m talking about, dude! And the fact that you think it is just shows that you’re still a baby!”

Max’s face gets hot. “I’m not a baby!” he screams back, and slams the front door.

He fumes the entire walk over to the greenhouse, then takes a deep breath before he opens the door, and lets his anger go. It’s not personal, he reminds himself. Patrick is just acting out. He’s not totally sure what that means, but it’s what Louis keeps saying.

Max pushes the glass door open, accidentally slamming it against the wall so hard that it bounces back. He keeps forgetting his own strength, lately. “Dads?” he calls.

“Over here,” Liam calls back.

Max walks awkwardly through the rows of plants and vegetables, almost knocking several pots over as he goes. In addition to his strength, he’s also completely unused to the length of his limbs. He finally finds Liam perched on a rolly stool with his glasses on, carefully pruning an herb plant.

“Pull up a chair,” Liam says without looking at him.

Max grabs the nearest patio chair and drags it over, taking a seat. “Hey.”

“Hey. How was school?”

Max sighs. Where to begin? First there was math class, where he struggles and feels dumb. Then bio, where he struggles and feels dumb. English class, where he really struggles and feels dumb, and he didn’t even see Caroline the whole day, because Mondays are her dual enrollment days. Then he went to lunch, where he fought with Patrick. After that, comp sci, where he feels dumb. Finally, P.E., the only class on his schedule that he actually enjoys, which buoyed his spirits a little.

“It was okay,” he says. “How are you?”

Liam is quiet for a while, concentrating on his plant. Finally, he says, “I’m alright.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Fox.”

Max watches Liam work, then hesitates before saying, “Everything will be okay, right? I mean, even if Sunday’s mom… even if she doesn’t make it, like… Sunday will be okay, right? ‘Cos she has us.”

Liam inhales. “It’s complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s a lot more going on here than you think there is.”

“Well, can you explain?”

“No,” Liam says, glancing at him. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s private business of Sunday’s.”

“But she’s my sister,” Max says. “And you’re my dad, too. And you’re having a hard time.”

“Max, leave it.”

“I want to understand!” Max exclaims, his voice cracking and then becoming unexpectedly deep.

Liam looks at him in surprise.

“I want to understand,” Max repeats. “I’m not a baby. I’m not — I’m not _stupid_.”

“Of course you’re not stupid,” Liam says. “I never said you were stupid. I love you very much.”

“You can love me and still think I’m stupid.”

Liam looks flummoxed by this. “Well, I don’t,” he says.

“Is it complicated because of Dad?” Max says. “Because he adopted Sunday? That’s why Sunday’s mum hates you, isn’t it? But I don’t get it, ‘cos she never even sees Sunday. Why would she care?”

“Max.” Liam looks very weary all of a sudden. “I asked you to leave this alone. Please respect that.”

Max gets a sensation that he often does, as if invisible tendrils of feeling are snaking out from him and stretching toward Liam, piercing his skin and reaching for his heart. He feels Liam’s hurt like it’s his own, and instinctively moves closer to him.

“But I feel like I have no idea what’s going on,” he says. “And we know you were hungover this morning.”

“Sorry about that,” Liam says, still looking at his plant, though he’s given up on pruning it.

“I understand you’re human,” Max says. “If you’re sad, I can help. I’m good at making people feel better, and I’m nice to talk to. Or at least everybody says so.”

“I’m your father,” Liam says in a hoarse voice. “You don’t comfort me in a family crisis, alright? I comfort you.”

“But I don’t need to be comforted, Dad. _You_ need to be comforted.”

Liam looks like he’s struggling massively against something inside of him, and then he breaks down, starting to weep into his hands. Max feels sick to his stomach; he’s never seen Liam cry before. He grabs his dad and wraps him up in a hug, holding him tight.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, burying his face in Liam’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Liam continues to weep, clinging to Max and stroking his hair.

MALIBU, AUGUST 26, 2039

Marlena and Toni are at the same summer arts camp, but doing different things; Toni is in guitar classes and jam sessions all day, with one painting session, while Marlena pretty much exclusively signs up for drama sessions, now. So when Harry picks them up, they’re too busy debriefing each other on the day’s events to tell him much of anything until they get back to the house.

They’re greeted by the sound of buzzing saws and hammering nails as soon as they get in; work crews are still earthquake-proofing the house.

“Ugh,” Marlena says, in response to this.

“Why don’t we go out by the pool for a while?” Harry says. “They said they’d be done around five, today.”

Toni races off upstairs, her braids bouncing. “We’re playing mermaids, Lena!” she yells back. “You’re not just sitting by the pool tanning! I want to play mermaids!”

“Fine,” Marlena yells back, but she hangs back instead of heading upstairs to get changed. “Dad?”

“Yeah?” Harry says, idly checking his emails.

“Can I have a voice coach?”

Harry turns to her in surprise. “What, for singing?”

“No,” Marlena says, swaying nervously from side to side and biting at her lip. “Just for talking…”

“Why, sweetie?”

Her olive skin is pretty tan by this point in the summer, but Harry can see a little bit of a flush in her cheeks. “I stuttered today,” she admits.

“Oh,” Harry says. “When?”

“During improv.”

“I’m sure no one noticed.”

“Oh, no,” Marlena says, and laughs. “They noticed… a few people laughed.”

Harry reaches out to stroke her hair, unsure of how to comfort her. Zayn would know what to say.

“I just get nervous sometimes, and it happens,” she says. “It hasn’t happened in a while. It doesn’t happen while I’m acting.”

“Right. Probably ‘cos you have your lines memorized.”

“I guess,” Marlena murmurs.

“Maybe you should see a speech therapist,” Harry says.

“No!” The flush becomes more pronounced. “It’s not that big a deal. I don’t need, like, special ed.”

“Honey, it’s not like that.”

“It is,” Marlena insists. “I just want a voice coach. Like you and Daddy have. That’s all I want.”

“Okay,” Harry relents.

When Marlena stuttered as a little girl, he and Zayn took her to a speech-language pathologist, who said that Marlena had no problems except feeling nervous about the pressure of starting school, and that her stutter would probably fade as she adjusted to that. She ended up being right about this, but Harry always worried that the stutter being pressure-related meant it was due to come back at some point, especially considering all of the pressure he puts on Marlena without meaning to.

Toni comes barreling back downstairs in a violet one-piece. “Go get ready!” she exclaims when she sees them both still standing there in the front hall.

Marlena heads upstairs obediently, but as she does, the front doorbell rings, and Harry’s watch buzzes. He glances down at it. _Taylor Swift_ _is at the front door._

“Mmm,” he says aloud. “Toni, go on out to the pool, I’ll be along in a moment.”

“Daaaad…”

“Just one sec, I promise.”

“I swear to _God_ if no one plays mermaids with me today,” Toni mutters, stomping toward the living room, dragging her beach towel across the floor behind her.

Harry goes to the door, steels himself a moment, then pulls it open.

“Hey,” Taylor says, smiling. She’s dressed down like she usually is when she comes over to their place. “Is your husband around?”

“Nope,” Harry says. “He’s in the Hamptons with his son.”

“Shit. Alright. He asked me last week to bring by some files on Monday, he must have forgotten he wouldn’t be here.”

“Sounds like Zayn.”

She laughs.

“You want to come in?” Harry says, hoping against hope that she won’t.

“Sure,” Taylor says.

His dismay must register on his face, because she’s quick to add, “I don’t have to, though. I can just hand you this and go…”

She offers him a thumb drive.

“No, come in,” Harry says. “The girls always love to see you, so. We’re just gonna hang out by the pool, ‘cos we’re having a bit of…” He opens the door wider and steps back, beckoning her in, then motions in the general direction of the saws and drilling. “Renovations.”

“Earthquake stuff?”

“Yeah. You want a drink?”

“Like water, or a drink-drink?” Taylor says, sounding amused.

“Whichever.”

“If you were in the mood to open a bottle of wine…”

“I am, actually,” Harry says, then instantly feels awkward about it. “Red or white?”

“Let’s say white.”

Marlena comes down the stairs in the tankini she picked out at the beginning of the summer. She originally wanted a bikini, which Harry was fine with, but Zayn threatened to divorce him if he put their 11-year-old daughter, who is already 5’6” and attracting unwanted attention, into a bikini. So Harry bought her a high-necked tankini.

“Taylor!” she chirps.

“Hi Lena,” Taylor says. “I love that pink on you. Where’s your sister?”

“Pool,” Marlena says.

“If you can keep an eye on them for a mo, make sure they don’t drown, I’ll grab the wine,” Harry says to Taylor.

“I’ll do my best,” she says drily.

*

At first, all they do is make halting, awkward small talk about music and the weather, but at some point into a second bottle of wine, they realize they can talk smack about Zayn, and that starts driving the conversation.

“And now we’re getting letters from the IRS again,” Harry says tipsily, pouring himself another glass. “‘Cos he owes, like, forty grand from, erm… twenty thirty-seven, I think the letter said. He didn’t claim income he got from consulting.”

“Okay, that’s something I’ve never understood,” Taylor says. “Why doesn’t he pay his taxes? It’s so funny. Like, just _pay your taxes._ ”

There’s a loud splashing sound from the far side of the infinity pool; Harry quickly looks up to verify that both girls are alright and no one is drowning, then takes another sip of his wine.

“I swear it’s ‘cos I paid his back taxes once, and now he’s just decided I can pay them forever,” Harry says.

“That’s wild.”

Harry shrugs. “That’s Zayn.”

“You guys are good, though?”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry stares off into the distance, watching his girls splash around and giggle. “Well... just lately, I’ve been a bit restless. But that’s career-related.”

“You’re like me,” Taylor says. “Not good at breaks.”

“No, never have been.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t done this before,” Taylor says. “Hang out like this. I mean, I’ve been friends with Zayn for what — twenty years, at least?”

“Well, I’ve only been with him for like, fourteen of those.”

“Still.”

“Dunno,” Harry says. “Do you hang out with your husband’s friends?”

“I do… of course, none of his friends are my exes.”

Harry laughs. “Right.”

An awkward pause arises.

“Is it fourteen years?” Taylor says.

“I think so,” Harry says. “Dunno. Everything starts to blur together when you pass forty.”

“Tell me about it.”

“That’s right, you’re coming up on the, er, big five-oh, aren’t you?”

Taylor groans and takes the wine bottle from him. “Shut up.”

Harry laughs.

“I’m serious. You’ll get there soon enough.” She pours herself another glass. “And then it won’t be so funny.” 

“You can laugh at me, when I get there.”

“But it won’t even be funny at that point, because I’ll be fifty-four.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at her, and they laugh.

The girls emerge from the pool sopping wet and patter over to them, leaving wet footprints on the stone tile.

“Dad,” Toni pants, “can we invite Hazel and Layla over?”

“Ohhh, er, maybe not tonight,” Harry says. “I’m not quite in shape to supervise someone else’s children.”

“What’s that mean?” Marlena says.

“It means I’ve had a few. Tomorrow?”

Marlena and Toni exchange a look, carrying on a wordless conversation.

“Fine,” Toni sighs. “Does Taylor want to hang out with us?”

“Taylor would love to hang out with you,” Taylor says. “Taylor does not have a bathing suit, though.”

“Let’s go paint!” Marlena chirps.

“Go change, then,” Harry says. “And dry off. Don’t catch your death.”

“We wouldn’t catch our death if you didn’t keep the house so cold,” Toni sasses him.

“I like it cold. It’s good for you. Makes your metabolism work harder.”

Taylor laughs and rolls her eyes. “God, Harry…”

The girls chase each other into the house, giggling.

“Now we have to get up,” Harry says, unsteadily swinging his legs off the side of his lounge chair. “Ugh.”

“You alright?”

“No… I’m really not. I’m a lightweight, now.”

“I mean, you never held your alcohol that well.”

“That’s not fair. I did so.”

“No, I’m sorry, you did not. For a tall British guy? Not at all.”

“Well, you would know about tall British guys...”

Taylor laughs harder.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Harry says.

“About what?”

“If I’ve been sort of a dick about you being friends with Zayn. It’s just, ‘round the time you became friends, neither of you were exactly very fond of me. So I always worried a bit that you might’ve talked shit behind my back.”

“That’s a little egotistical,” Taylor teases. “You think we had nothing to talk about besides you, all these years?”

Harry meets her twinkly eyes. “It’s not so far off. I know he talks to you about things like that. You helped him write that diss track about Liam.”

“Oh, please — I did not!” Taylor exclaims. “I helped him work out the wording and the rhythm on a couple lines, I barely knew what the song was about, and I honestly didn’t _care_ , either. Plus, he even told me he was just giving me a writing credit on it because he knew it would piss you off.”

Harry blinks at her. “Did he?”

“Yes!”

“Oh,” Harry says, feeling dumb and a little warm in his cheeks.

“Why, did it work?”

Harry laughs. “Might’ve.”

“Ha. Well, that’s about twenty years behind us now, too. So maybe you can put all that to bed.”

“Maybe I can,” Harry admits.

Taylor smiles at him, then gets up and extends a hand to him. “Let’s go paint with your girls, so I can get home to mine.”

Harry lets her pull him to his feet, and they start across the cool stone. “How is your daughter, by the way?”

“Wonderful. Very difficult, obnoxious teenager, but fantastic and perfect, when she can stand to be around me.”

Harry laughs. “Can’t wait for that stage.”

“Yeah, it sucks.”

VAIL SKI RESORT, AUGUST 26, 2039

Sometime around 5 p.m., John gives Sunday his and Ceci’s day passes to the resort’s _apres_ - _ski_ facilities, presumably to get rid of her and Mia so he can be alone at Ceci’s bedside. Sunday can’t blame him; things got tense between them after he kept urging her to talk to Ceci, and tell her she loves her, and Sunday couldn’t find it in her to do so. She just sat there staring at Ceci’s inert body, speechless, until John said in a cold voice, “Maybe you should go get some fresh air and clear your head.”

Mia gets them a booth at a nice restaurant, one with high barn ceilings and rustic stone walls and a beautiful view of the snow-capped mountains, and orders them Irish coffees. Sunday doesn’t care about any of this. Their booth is snuggled right up against a window, and she just sits there, trailing her finger over the glass, drawing triangles around the closest visible mountain peak.

“What do you want to eat?” Mia asks her.

“Nothing,” Sunday says.

“You have to eat. All you’ve had today is a bagel.”

“I feel sick.”

“You feel sick ‘cos you haven’t eaten.”

Sunday chokes up and shakes her head.

“What is it?” Mia says, studying her over her menu.

“Nothing.”

“You want a hug?”

“No. I’m okay.”

Mia lets out a sigh. “You know I’m here if you need me, right?”

Sunday nods. She misses Liam, and Louis. Mia is comforting, but she’s not a parent. She doesn’t have forty years of wisdom up her sleeve. And she doesn’t know Ceci like Liam does.

Liam doesn’t seem to want to talk much, though. He sends one-word responses to her texts, and when she called him earlier, wanting to be comforted, he talked like her words were reaching him from a very long distance. He only seemed able to process every third or fourth thing she said.

A waiter comes over to them, then, and Mia says, “Sorry, I don’t think we’re ready to order…”

“No, no, I’m just delivering these,” he says, setting a tray with two hot toddies down on the table. “Courtesy of the gentleman at the bar.”

They both look to see who he’s indicating — it’s a middle-aged guy in a nice suit, waving at them.

“Okay, well, tell him thanks but no thanks,” Mia says. “We’re not here to be bought drinks.”

The waiter looks stricken. “Uh. Okay. My apologies.”

“It’s not your fault, I’m just saying.”

“Okay. Understood. I’ll take these away.”

When he’s gone, Mia glances up at Sunday and says, “Sorry if that was dicky of me, I just figured you didn’t —“

“No, it wasn’t dicky,” Sunday mutters. “Thanks.”

About a minute passes in silence before someone approaches their table again, and clears his throat. They both look up and see the guy from the bar.

“Hi ladies,” he says. “My name is Austin.”

“Hi,” Mia says, staring up at him suspiciously.

Austin waits for her to introduce herself, then seems to take the hint that she doesn’t plan to. Sunday keeps drawing triangles on the window, feeling like a little kid.

“I noticed you declined my drink offer,” he says. “Is there something you’d prefer? On me.”

“Nope, all good, thanks,” Mia says. “We just already have our own drinks, and we don’t need any company.”

“Okay,” Austin says, starting to sound annoyed. “I’m just being friendly.”

“We’re not here to make friends,” Mia says, in her final warning voice. If he pushes her any further, she’s going to stand up and get in his face — Sunday knows from experience. “We just want to eat in peace.”

“My mistake. I just thought, you know — we’re both sitting in the VIP section, it’s a slow night here in the offseason, I thought it would be nice to have a conversation with two beautiful young women.”

“My mom is in the hospital down the street with the back of her skull sawed off, and she’s in a coma,” Sunday says, finally looking up at him. “Do you want to talk about that? Because I don’t.”

Austin goes pale under his tan. He mumbles some kind of hasty apology and hurries back to the bar.

“Dickhead,” Mia mutters, then in a mocking voice: “‘Two beautiful young ladies!’ Yeah, young enough to be your fucking daughters. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sunday says, even though she isn’t. “Mia?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we’re cursed?”

Mia laughs. “Cursed?”

“Yeah.”

“No, why do you ask?”

Sunday shrugs. “Bad stuff keeps happening.”

“I think that’s just life, plus big bad stuff happens to rich people more ‘cos we live bigger,” Mia says. “Like, skiing’s dangerous, but most people can’t afford to ski so often they’re doing double black diamond routes, y’know? Normal people just, like… have car accidents and stuff.”

Sunday laughs. “Right.”

“I don’t think we’re cursed,” Mia says decisively, taking a sip of her drink. “Life just sucks sometimes. Dad always says life doesn’t fight fair, it goes for the cheap hits.”

“I think he’s right about that.”

“He’s right about a lot of stuff,” Mia admits.

THE HAMPTONS, AUGUST 26, 2039

Sometime in the late afternoon, they part ways with Niall and Winnie and a patched-up Jamie and head back to the Carter manse. The houseman greets them at the door, taking Amir’s boxed-up lox bagel from Louis before Louis even registers what’s happening.

“Mr Tomlinson, Mr Malik,” he says, “you’re invited to join the Stewarts on the upstairs verandah for a private dinner at seven this evening.”

“Oh,” Louis says. “Alright. I guess that’s when we’ll have our chat with them, then?”

“Yes, I believe that’s on the itinerary.”

Zayn makes a noise that’s halfway between a grunt and a snort.

“So, wait,” Evan says, as the massive heavy door swings shut behind them. “Does that mean me and Amir are off the hook for dinner? Can we go to a bar?”

“Oh, please,” Amir says. “Please tell me we can.”

“There’s no formal dinner being served in the dining room tonight,” the houseman explains. “The chef can make something for you, or you’re free to go out.”

“Definitely going out,” Evan says emphatically, like he’s going to break out into hives if he stays in this house a second longer. “Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem at all, Mr Stewart,” Sam says, winking at him. “I’ll go put this box in the fridge for you.”

“Thanks,” Louis tells him. His palms are already getting sweaty. He’s not in the right headspace to face the Stewarts, not at all.

“I call showering first,” Amir tells Evan, and bolts up the stairs.

“Wait, no, come on, I’m so sunburned,” Evan complains, gingerly chasing after him. “I can’t run, this isn’t fair.”

Zayn starts traipsing up the stairs after them, his movements lazy. Louis follows, lost in thought. In the hallway, they walk past a few women he recognizes from dinner. They’re all giggling amongst themselves, wearing the kind of bathing suits you can only tan in, and Tom Ford sunglasses.

“I’m gonna shower, if that’s alright,” Zayn says, once they’re back in their room.

Louis shrugs.

“You ‘ave to be kidding me,” Zayn says. “You’re not still moping over Liam?”

“Fuck off,” Louis snaps, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He’s exhausted from being in the sun all day, and not at all in the mood. “Sorry I can’t be detached from my husband like you and Harry are, guess I’m not enough of an intellectual or a fancy artist. Or maybe you two just have shit communication and pretend like that’s a good thing?”

“Whoa,” Zayn says, his eyes getting flinty.

“You started it.”

“We don’t have shit communication.”

“Right,” Louis says, and snorts. He’s feeling mean, suddenly. “That’s why when you relapsed you came crying to me, and when Harry was afraid you wanted a divorce, he came to me, too. I’m like your marriage therapist. Doesn’t pay very well, I ‘ave to say.”

Zayn starts to say something, then seemingly thinks better of it, and disappears into the bathroom instead.

“Yeah, run away from me,” Louis yells, his chest tight with anger. “Nobody can handle reality or the fucking truth, any of the four of you.”

Zayn pokes his head back out of the bathroom door. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” he hisses, looking enraged. “Chill out!”

“I don’t want to!” Louis hollers at him.

“You’re gonna have to! Or I’ll walk out of here and you can go to that stupid dinner yourself!”

“No,” Louis says. Tears prickle at his eyes again. “Don’t leave, please.”

Zayn appears to soften. “Then don’t make me.”

Louis tries to talk and finds himself sobbing, for some reason. Zayn lets out a sigh, but comes over to him and sits beside him on the bed, pulling him in for a hug.

“Nobody’s leaving you,” Zayn mutters.

“Everyone always is,” he chokes out. “And our baby got married. And everyone’s trying to steal him.”

“No one’s trying to steal him.”

“The industry is. Why aren’t you more worried about that? You hate the industry.”

“He has to learn for himself to hate them,” Zayn mutters. “I can’t put it in his head that they’re evil. Just makes a record deal more temptin’ in the end. ‘Ooh, look how adult and rebellious I am, doing the thing my dotty old dad told me not to.’”

“You’re not his dotty old dad. He listens to you.”

“Not about this. He listens to you, a bit, ‘cos you manage bands, and he listens to Harry, and that’s it. I’ve already tipped my hand with him. Gave him this whole speech a few years back on how I regretted my whole career. So of course he’s gonna have lost respect for me. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Oh, Zayn… you’re projecting.”

“Nah,” Zayn says. “Look, it’s fine. He’ll come to us when the shine comes off the apple, yeah?”

Louis is quiet for a moment. “Do you think he’s bipolar?” he says.

“Uh… what makes you ask?”

“He eloped.”

“Oh, no, mate,” Zayn says. “I don’t think so. Look, when you and me eloped, that wasn’t… I wasn’t manic or anythin’. I really wanted to do that. And I think he really wanted to marry this kid.”

“Alright,” Louis says, relieved.

“Manic is like — I dunno, like the time I was really high on Benadryl and I thought God was sending me messages through the radio.”

“You _what_?”

“I was really sleep-deprived,” Zayn says defensively. “And I also thought it might’ve been aliens, actually.”

“Zayn.”

“I’m fine _now_ , I’m just saying.”

“When was this?”

“Uh… Amir was like six months old.”

“And I didn’t notice you were losing it?”

“Nah, but I always hid it well.”

Louis doesn’t even know what to say to this, so he just laughs. Zayn grins at him.

“The tour was hard,” Louis admits. “I’m old. And I missed my family so much. And now I feel like there’s a whole universe between us.”

“You could get on a plane and be home in six hours, if you wanted.”

“If I don’t see this through for Amir, he’ll be upset with me.”

“Well, there you go, then. That’s why I’m here, too.”

“Sorry for yelling at you,” Louis says. “That was out of order. I don’t really think I’m your marriage therapist.”

Zayn hesitates. “Sometimes you are, a bit. But you’re sort of everyone’s everything therapist.”

“Oh, cheers. Fantastic.”

“It’s not a bad thing. We all trust you with our shit, and you’re great to talk to. That’s all.”

Louis’ stomach jerks in a sickening way. “Then why doesn’t Liam want to talk to me?”

“Oh my fuckin’ God,” Zayn says, and stands up. “Alright, bye, I’m off to the airport. Sort yourself out.”

“No, no.” Louis grabs the hem of his shirt. “Stop it, that’s not funny. I’ll stop crying about Liam, I promise.” He wipes his damp cheeks.

“I just don’t love hearing it,” Zayn says. “I know you love him more than you ever loved me, you don’t have to rub it in my face.”

“That’s not true, and I’m not!”

“Come off it,” Zayn says. “You’re crying about as hard as you did when you divorced me, just ‘cos you’re having an argument. Maybe there was a time where you _liked_ me more than him, but you’ve always loved him more.”

Louis sniffs. “You’re wrong,” he says. “I’m just not used to him hurting me, is all. I got used to it from you.”

“Mmm. Ouch.”

“It’s fair play.”

“Maybe,” Zayn says. “Ouch anyways. Look, why don’t you just ring him up? I’m sure he’s not thinking you’re sitting around absolutely gutted over this. He probably thinks you’re busy.”

Louis hesitates. “Alright, but can you go in the toilet while I do?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but complies. He pulls the door firmly shut behind him, then turns the fan on.

Louis lies down on the bed before calling Liam. His heart thumps in his throat as the line rings in his ears.

He thinks the call is about to go to voicemail, then Liam picks up. “Hullo?”

“Hey,” Louis says.

“Hey.”

“Did you get my texts?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t respond.”

Liam is breathing slowly; he sounds like he’s had a few. “Sorry. I didn’t think they needed a response.”

“Have you been drinking?”

Liam sniffs. “A bit.”

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sound like you’ve been crying.”

“Only a little.”

“Love…”

“I’m fine, Lou, seriously. I was just having a lie-down while the boys are at practice.”

“Look,” Louis says, trying to figure out a careful way to go about it, then just plunging full steam ahead: “If the worst case scenario happens, you’ll let me be there for you and Sunday, right?”

There’s a shifting on the other end of the line, like Liam is sitting up. “Um,” he says. “I don’t think we need to — yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“‘Cos you’re not letting me be there for you right now.”

“Well,” Liam says, “you’re not _here_ , so…”

“But you told me not to come home.”

“Right, I don’t want you cutting your trip short.”

“But do you need me?”

Liam sighs. “I need to take things as they come,” he says.

“But Sunday said it could be a week before we even know anything.”

“Right.”

“So when I get back, if we still don’t know anything, can we both fly out to be with her?”

“I don’t think she wants that... and Mia’s already there.”

“Do you not think she wants that, or do you _know_ she doesn’t?”

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re getting on my nerves, a bit.”

Louis ignores the sting this causes him. “‘Cos I’m asking you questions?” _About our daughter?_

“‘Cos you’re hammering me, and I don’t have the answers.”

“Fine. Yeah. Alright.”

“Is everything okay over there?” Liam says in a very perfunctory way. “How’s the Amir stuff?”

“Fine. Great.”

“Okay, good. Look, I’ll let you go, alright?”

I called _you_ , Louis wants to say. “Yeah, alright. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Half a minute later, Zayn pokes his head out of the bathroom door again. “So?” he says.

“That made it worse,” Louis says in a clipped tone. “Let’s move on. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Can you get out of there so I can shower?”

Zayn nods and vacates the bathroom. Louis goes in and disrobes in a fury of movements, tossing his clothes on the floor behind him, then runs himself a scalding hot shower that turns his skin pink.

*

Evan ducks into the kitchen via the old servants’ staircase that leads upstairs, wanting something to drink but not wanting to run into any of his cousins, who are gathered chatting in the hall outside the kitchen. He can hear them laughing as he sneaks a glass carafe of orange juice out of the fridge and downs a sip.

He hears footsteps behind him, and then his father’s voice saying “Hey,” and he panics, quickly putting the juice back and turning around.

Carter doesn’t seem to notice or care that he was drinking out of a container. “I just wanted to ask you if you’ve given any more thought to my proposal.”

“Which one?” Evan says, leaning against the wood door of the refrigerator. “You wanting us to sign a postnup, or you wanting me to take a board seat?”

“Well, both, actually.”

“I have a proposal for you, actually, Dad,” Evan says. “How about this — if we don’t have to sign the postnup, I’ll take the board seat.”

Carter shakes his head. “That won’t play.”

“You serious?”

“You need to sign that postnup,” Carter says, his eyes glittering. “I’m not sure if I didn’t make myself clear on this, or what, but I’m not negotiating with you on that. The terms of you signing the postnup are you either do it, or I cut you off completely. You won’t be in my will.”

Evan’s heart quickens. He fights the urge to back down and apologize. “That’s not a very good way to get me to take a board seat,” he says.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t say it was. You’d seriously cut me out of your will?”

“If you push me to it,” Carter says. “I can’t take the risk of having your little boyfriend running around, entitled to a two percent stake in my company.”

“He’s my husband, not my little boyfriend, and where’d you get that number?”

“Think, Evan. Our family owns fifty-five percent of the company, and fifteen percent of that is mine. Five each goes to you kids when I die. The way it stands now, if I die tomorrow and you two divorce the next day, Amir gets two point five. Doesn’t matter that you’ve been married for, what, two weeks? He’s entitled to fifty percent of your holdings. If he becomes a shareholder and leaves you, walks away from the family, that dilutes us down dangerously close to fifty-one percent.”

“He wouldn’t even want it,” Evan says, backing away from his dad, who’s advanced on him and started sticking a finger in his face. “He has no interest in the company.”

Carter laughs. “You say that now. You wait. You take a board seat, and start getting involved with the company, and you don’t sign a postnup, he’s going to get very comfortable.”

“I don’t want to divorce him,” Evan says, thinking of how Amir stayed up late last night to soothe him, stroking his hair for hours.

“Again, you say that now. If he wants nothing to do with the company, then how come you’re refusing the postnup? Your mother and I have a prenup. Your sister and her husband have a prenup. I don’t understand this resistance.”

“Because what you had drawn up is a shitty deal for him,” Evan says. “That’s what Louis’ lawyers said.”

“Oh, come on.”

“And I feel like it’s, like, a bad omen. It’s like signing a contract putting an end date on our marriage.”

“You are still _such_ a child,” Carter says. “For all of his flaws, at least your brother understands what’s at stake here.”

“Then groom him for CEO and chairman, and leave me alone!” Evan scoffs, his face hot with anger. “Maybe I don’t want to do this because you’re telling me I _have_ to do it, and it should be between me and Amir, ‘cos our marriage isn’t any of your business.”

“Exactly, that’s childish.”

“Fine, then I’m a child. Good luck saving your company, Dad. Hope you get all the votes you need without me on the board. If not, I hope protecting that two point five percent was worth losing everything.”

Evan turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen, ignoring his father calling after him.

*

Evan’s family has a designated roped-off VIP section on the rooftop of a club in Montauk called Nighthawk, so he and Amir head over there in an Uber with Rachel and a few of her Stanford friends, who are all giggly-drunk from pregaming.

Amir is tired from skateboarding and tanning, and from the neurotic churning of his brain, so he just sits there looking out the window at the crowded beach town streets, holding Evan’s hand across the backseat.

“Henry says Nighthawk is dead,” Rachel announces, her face lit up by the glow of her watch. “He says they’re heading over to Ostrich.”

“I don’t give a shit what Henry says about anything,” Evan says. “And I’d rather go somewhere that’s dead. Hamptons people are annoying, and I want to eat soon.”

He sounds angry and unsettled; something is clearly bothering him, but he won’t tell Amir what it is.

“Chill,” Rachel says. “A busy kitchen serves food faster, anyway.”

“But we don’t have a guaranteed table at Ostrich.”

“Trust me, they’ll find us one.”

“Ostrich has better music,” says Rachel’s blonde friend.

“We can split up,” Amir offers. “Me and Evan can go to Nighthawk to get dinner, then come meet you guys later.”

“Okay,” Rachel says, not looking up from her watch. “That works.”

“Thanks,” Evan mouths to Amir, who nods.

*

Zayn is perched on his bed, waiting for Louis to finish showering when Harry calls. He shakes his watch toward his ear and says, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Harry says, in a low, warm voice that makes Zayn’s dick twitch in his pants.

“Hi,” Zayn says, smiling. “Sup?”

Harry’s quiet for a moment. “Your friend Taylor dropped by. We drank wine.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. She’s playing with the kids, now.”

“How much wine did you drink?”

“Like a bottle.”

“You horny?”

“Yeah, a bit. I miss you.”

Zayn starts rubbing at his dick through his pants. “I miss you too, love.”

“I wanna have tantric sex when you get home,” Harry says. “For like an hour. Like, get a babysitter, go to dinner, make a whole night of it?”

“An hour?” Zayn says. “Uh… I mean, good luck with that, but alright.”

“You don’t think you can go for an hour?” Harry purrs.

“Highly debatable.”

“Either way… looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Zayn says. “I ought to be home tomorrow, day after at the latest. I have to go have dinner with this kid’s idiot parents now, but I’ll text you when I’m done so you can put me on with the girls to say goodnight.”

“Sounds good.”

“Hey, wait. Why did Taylor come over?”

“To drop something off for you,” Harry says tipsily. “I forget what, even. But we got to talking.”

“You did, huh? Interesting.”

“Yeah... and then I fucked her in the poolhouse.”

“Alright, not funny.”

Harry laughs a sort of deranged laugh. “Little funny.”

“I wanna fuck _you_ in the poolhouse,” Zayn murmurs. “On the fluffy towels.”

“Mmm, sounds nice.”

The bathroom door opens, letting out a massive gust of steam. Louis comes out, fully dressed, towel drying his hair. His eyes are still bloodshot and puffy from crying earlier.

“Hey, I gotta go,” Zayn says into the phone. “Laters, love.”

“Bye.”

“Don’t hang up on my account,” Louis says, picking up one of the prerolls that Amir gave them and lighting it. “Go ahead and have your filthy phone sex with Harry, if you like.”

“Uh, no need,” Zayn says, watching him smoke. “You sure you’re alright for this dinner?”

Louis exhales smoke through his nostrils. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s just finish this J and get it over with.”

Zayn extends his hand for the joint, and Louis gives it to him. He takes a deep drag while willing his hard-on to go away.

“Alright,” he agrees.

*

The upstairs patio is draped in linen and stuffed with plants, with candles glowing on every surface. It looks like a fire hazard. When Louis and Zayn arrive, Carter and Nicole are sitting far away from each other on a pristine white couch, each sipping a cocktail.

“Hey, guys,” Carter calls. “Glad you could join us.”

“Yeah, course,” Louis says. He and Zayn go over and sit on the couch opposite them, on the other side of the patio table, which is heavy with chafing dishes full of appetizers.

“Ian,” Nicole calls to a member of the wait staff who’s standing at attention along the railing, beside the bar cart. “Can you fetch them some cocktails? Zayn, Louis, what’s your poison?”

“Water,” Zayn says, in a clipped tone.

“Gin and tonic,” Louis says. “A double.” His brain is already buzzing from Amir’s strong weed, but he wants it to be buzzing even more. He wants it to buzz hard enough to shake loose his bad mood. He picks up a fork and starts stabbing the dumplings in one of the chafing dishes, transferring them to his plate.

Ian brings Zayn a glass of ice water, then mixes a very large G&T for Louis, which he accepts with a grateful, “Thanks, mate.”

“What did you two get up to today?” Nicole says, shaking her tennis bracelet up her wrist as she sets her empty cocktail glass down. Ian scoops it up and takes it away to refill it.

Zayn looks at Louis.

“Ah, we got breakfast,” Louis says. “Saw the boardwalk. We ran into one of our old bandmates, so we caught up with him a bit.”

“Oh, what a nice coincidence.”

“Yeah.”

“So Zayn,” Carter says. “I feel like we’ve never talked much.”

“Nope,” Zayn says. “Can’t say we have.”

“Well, tell us about yourself,” Carter says.

Zayn looks at Louis again, more helplessly this time. Louis keeps eating dumplings, shooting him a look back that tells him he’s on his own.

“Uhh,” Zayn exhales, setting his drink down and lacing his hands together. “I’m from England…”

“Right,” Carter says.

Zayn doesn’t add anything to this; an awkward silence descends.

“Where in England?” Nicole says.

“Bradford,” Zayn says.

“Did you two grow up near each other?” Carter says.

“Eh, sorta,” Zayn says. “Like an hour apart.”

“Oh, only an hour?” Nicole says. “That’s so close.”

“Well, England’s smaller than America,” Zayn says.

Carter nods. “It is,” he says, sounding serious about this.

Louis doesn’t really want to interject — this interaction is so funny to him that it’s starting to lighten his mood a little.

“How are you, Louis?” Carter says. “We haven’t talked in a while.”

“Right, no, we haven’t.”

“How’s Liam?”

Bad. Drunk. “He’s doing well.”

“And how’s your daughter?”

Louis thinks of Sunday first, just because she’s on his mind. “Mia’s doing really well,” he says. “Been playing professional football, actually. Not, er...” He mimes throwing a spiral. “Your soccer, rather.”

“Wasting her brain and breaking her body down,” Zayn mutters under his breath, earning him an elbow in the side from Louis.

“And how’s your, ah, your music?” Carter says. “We saw you went on tour.”

“Yes, that must have been so thrilling,” Nicole says, smiling at Louis. “I couldn’t imagine, at my age.”

“It was tough,” Louis admits. “But loads of fun.”

“Evan was talking about you a lot, when he first got here,” Nicole says. “I think he really admires you.”

This warms Louis’ face and makes him smile. Carter looks uncomfortable.

“How are you two enjoying the Hamptons?” Nicole says.

“Oh, er,” Louis says. “It’s nice. I think I’ve been here before... can’t quite remember.”

Carter laughs. “You can’t remember?”

“We’ve been a lot of places,” Louis says, failing to add that they were often drunk or high when at those places.

“I liked the beach,” Zayn offers unexpectedly. They all look at him, and he falls quiet, before adding: “There was a nice breeze today.”

“There was,” Louis agrees, to encourage him.

“I wish I could get out there more,” Carter says. “I’ve honestly been stuck in the house since we got here. I used to surf, if you can believe that. I taught the kids how, and everything. I haven’t had time for it in years.”

Louis can’t really imagine this Carter being patient enough to teach his kids to surf, but maybe things have changed over the years. It does seem to him like some darkness has settled over Evan’s parents — even though their cheerful, pleasant exteriors always seemed a little forced, Evan’s dad used to seem genuinely loving toward him. Louis remembers him smiling with pride at birthday parties, and things. And he was genuinely distraught when Evan got kicked out of Groton, not angry.

“You know, I went to Groton,” Carter had said, as Louis handed him a cup of tea. “So did my father. I loved it there. I wanted him to have that East Coast experience, even though I moved the kids out west. Maybe Henry will adjust to it better…”

Louis had just nodded. All he knew about Henry was that he was a psycho-in-training who tortured frogs. Amir was very upset when he told Louis about this — he loves frogs.

“Yeah, how’s all that going, with the company?” Louis says, sipping his gin. “Any progress? If you’re allowed to tell me, I dunno. Don’t, if you’re not.”

Carter laughs. Nicole looks bored at the mere mention.

“Yeah, I’d actually like to discuss that with you two,” Carter says. “One of our strategies is for Evan to take a board seat, so he could vote against any motion to replace our management. We’re somewhere in the margin of one to two votes in either direction, so that could be a big game changer. But Evan doesn’t want to do it.”

“Right,” Louis says cautiously.

“He made me an offer earlier tonight,” Carter says, looking Louis in the eyes. “He’ll take the board seat if he doesn’t have to sign a postnup.”

“Oh,” Louis says.

Carter jingles the ice in his glass, his Rolex shining on his wrist. “He says he’s dead-set against it,” he continues. “But I don’t think Amir is. So that’s where I’d appreciate it if you could help me out.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, he just waits for Carter to continue. Zayn and Nicole both appear to be zoning out.

“If Amir signs the postnup,” Carter continues, “and encourages Evan to take the board seat, I think he’ll come around.”

“What if Amir doesn’t want to do that?” Louis says.

“I think he does,” Carter says. “I think he and I are on the same side… we both want what’s best for Evan.”

“Do you?” Louis says.

Carter’s smile drops. “Of course. I think, as you probably agree, that he’s too young to be making these kinds of life altering decisions.”

“Not really, no,” Louis says. “He’s about to be twenty-three. I became a parent ‘round his age.”

“Right,” Carter says. “That kind of dovetails into my next point.”

Louis feels his blood chill. “Does it?”

Carter shoots a glance at Nicole, who ignores him, sipping her cocktail and clicking her nails against the chilled glass.

“Look,” Carter says, “we’re aware of what happened a few years ago.”

Oh, fuck. No no no. Louis looks at Zayn in a panic, and Zayn looks back at him, his brow furrowed in curious suspicion.

“What do you mean?” Louis says, in case he’s wrong.

“We know about the abortion,” Carter says.

Louis feels like he’s falling down a long dark tunnel.

“What _abortion_?” Zayn snaps, his voice hard as nails.

“I told him not to do this,” Nicole says, setting her drink down with a clatter and getting up. “I’m sorry… I like your son. I’m going to bed, now.”

She wobbles as she walks away, and Carter’s face flashes a microexpression of contempt before he turns back to Louis and Zayn.

“What abortion,” Zayn demands. “What the _fuck_ are you talking about, bruv?”

Louis puts a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “Can I talk to you in private?”

Zayn shoves him away. “No. I want to hear what this prick is talking about.”

The expression on Carter’s face is one of instant regret, like he just roundhouse kicked a wasp’s nest. “Sorry, I thought you both knew.”

“Please, seriously, can you give us a fucking minute?” Louis snaps at him. “Can we have a moment alone?”

“No,” Zayn says, not looking at him. He’s still staring at Carter. “Say what you were gonna say.”

Louis tries to grab Zayn and physically drag him out of his seat, but Zayn bats him away.

“You wanna go somewhere, fuckin’ go,” he snaps at Louis. “Fuck off.” He cracks his knuckles.

“I really didn’t mean to cause any issues,” Carter says. “Seriously, this isn’t a big deal. It happens. I was just trying to make a point about —”

“ _What_ happens?” Zayn demands.

Carter exhales. “A few years ago, when Amir and Evan were both living in New York, Amir, um, had an abortion. Evan told Rachel, who told me. I only assumed you both knew because Evan told her that Louis paid for half of it.”

Zayn’s head turns on his neck. His dark eyes fix on Louis like lasers.

“Please,” Louis begs him. “Please let’s go somewhere else and talk.”

“Amir knows he doesn’t have what it takes to be a serious, full-fledged member of this family,” Carter says. “Most people don’t. He wasn’t raised like that, he can’t fit into this world. He doesn’t know all the rules of this type of society. I wouldn’t expect him to! But that’s why, if Evan is going to take a larger role in the company, he needs to be legally insulated from this decision they made —”

“You think he can’t fit in your world?” Louis snaps, his rage finally reaching a peak. “Yeah, me and Zayn, we couldn’t fit in your world. Sure. Wouldn’t even want to try, frankly. But you think our son can’t get along at your regattas or fancy cocktail parties? Since fucking when?”

“It’s about —”

“No, fuck off! He went to the same prep schools your son went to. He got straight As, president of his class, perfect SATs, could’ve been valedictorian if he hadn’t graduated a year early! Studied multiple languages, speaks fuckin’ Latin, classically trained pianist — Zayn and his husband‘ve brought Amir along to Oscars afterparties and Fashion Week for years now, he’s traveled all over the world, he’s probably more cultured than _you_ are. Graduated fookin’ Julliard, ‘ad a fellowship with the Royal College of Music, he could talk circles around any posh old dickhead you call a friend.” Carter keeps trying to interrupt, but Louis steamrolls over him. “So what if he’s got a few tattoos and piercings and likes the f-word? You’re cracked out of your fuckin’ head if you think my son doesn’t belong in your world. People like my son _invented_ your world. You’re just the lucky benefactor. You never got anything you didn’t inherit, you never created anything. Everything me and Zayn have, we worked for!”

Carter inhales. “At the end of the day,” he says carefully, “I am the CEO of a large media conglomerate. I’m responsible for ten thousand jobs. My son’s decision of whether or not to take a board seat might decide the future of this company. And you’re right, you wouldn’t fit into my world, so you don’t know the first thing about what that takes. Evan needs a partner who will help him build. All your son does is lead him down the wrong paths. Amir fills his head with the kind of base, socialist propaganda that I’m sure he got from you two, ideas that keep him from reaching his full potential —”

“Fuck you,” Louis spits at him.

Carter continues unperturbed. “He gets him in trouble with drugs. He dumps my son and comes back to him whenever he sees fit, he’s careless enough to get knocked up, then he swoops in and he marries him without a prenup —”

Zayn shoots onto his feet and shoves the coffee table aside, making it scrape on the stone balcony, then lunges forward, grabbing Carter by the lapels of his dress shirt, and physically shakes him.

Louis is so stunned by this that he just sits there. It’s exactly what he wanted to do, give or take a fist in Carter’s teeth, but he never in a million years expected Zayn to do it.

“Don’t ever talk about my son again,” Zayn says, dragging him close so Carter’s reddening face is an inch from his own. “That’s the last time. Do you hear me?”

“Get your hands off me!”

“You keep his name out o’ your mouth. You stay away from ‘im.”

A guy in a suit busts onto the verandah — Carter’s bodyguard. He rushes over to them and easily pulls Zayn away, lifting him off his feet and setting him back down a safe distance from Carter.

“Thank you, Colin,” Carter says mildly.

“You’re a shitty prick of a dad,” Louis says to him, still shaking from adrenaline, his heart racing. “Your son ain’t your little puppet. He’s his own person. You think it’s his fault you two have a shitty relationship? No. That’s on you. You did that, you own it. I hope he never speaks to you again.”

He slams his glass down on the table and gets up.

Ian, who had gone back inside the house when the conversation began getting tense, opens the verandah doors. “Why don’t I get your luggage, Mr. Tomlinson, Mr. Malik?” he says, clearly wanting to avoid a scene. “I can meet you out front with it.”

“Grab Evan and Amir’s too?” Louis says. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“You know, you can make as much money as you want,” Carter says, his voice ragged, staring up at Louis with glazed eyes. “You’ll always be trash. Your kids too.”

Louis swells with white-hot rage, but he doesn’t give Carter the satisfaction of reacting. He just lets the rage fill him, electrifying him from his feet to the roots of his hair.

“Can you make it off the property without any issues, or do you need an escort?” the bodyguard demands, still standing between Zayn and Carter. “Every inch of this house is covered by CCTV, just so you know.”

“Oh, we won’t have any fucking issues, don’t worry,” Louis says.

His ears and head are ringing so badly that he barely registers the walk downstairs, through the foyer and out onto the porch. The moon is full, hanging heavily above them in the sky, glowing.

Zayn goes and sits down against one of the marble columns, nursing his right hand. Louis waits a moment, then joins him.

“You hurt yourself?” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “When’s the last time you roughed someone up, anyway? Primary school?”

Zayn stares at his hand in his lap. “When did it happen?”

Louis sighs. “Right before Amir’s twentieth birthday.”

“And you knew?”

“I was the first person he told.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He asked me not to.”

“Doe _s Liam_ know?”

“God no!” Louis cries. “No, absolutely not. Honestly, ‘til tonight, I thought that me, Amir, Evan and Mia were the only people who did know.”

Zayn is quiet for a moment. “Yasmeen knows?”

“Yes, he tells her everything.”

“But not me.”

“Zayn,” Louis says, his voice soft. “He didn’t want to disappoint you, and he didn’t want you to think worse of Evan. Please try to understand.”

“I do think worse of Evan,” Zayn mutters.

“Try not to. I get it, I was angry at him too. But he did all the right things. He’s very good to Amir.”

“I don’t care.”

“Look, Zayn… my mum was nice to you when I got pregnant, wasn’t she? She didn’t hold anything against you. She knew it was an accident, and you were struggling, too. And didn’t that help you loads? Wasn’t that exactly what you needed?”

“Sorry,” Zayn snaps, looking up at him, “but I’m no saint like you and your mum. I’m just some arsehole.”

“No you’re not,” Louis murmurs.

He’s quiet for a while. “You’re really fine with this? You’re fine with knowing our son got knocked up at nineteen by some dipshit, who he’s now married?”

“It happens. I got knocked up at twenty-three by some dipshit, who I then married.”

“Not funny.”

“What do you want me to tell you, Zayn? Of course I was upset! I hated hearing about it, and I hated not being able to tell you about it. But Evan’s a good kid. He stuck by Amir, and they got married ‘cos they’re in love and they feel like the whole world is tryin’ to tear them apart. And honestly? They’ve got a point, there.”

“His dad’s a piece of work,” Zayn says. “I feel bad for him for that, if no other reason.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Reckon we both got a bit heated in there. Some buttons were pressed.”

“Rich people,” Zayn says, and spits on the porch. He says something in Urdu.

“Come again?”

“I said pigs. They’re pig people, pigs that walk on their hind legs.” He sighs. “Why didn’t Amir want to tell me?”

“I told you, he didn’t want to disappoint you. He admires you so much.”

“He admires you too.”

“But it’s different, Zayn. I understood what he was going through. And I didn’t hold it against Evan.”

“Did he take care of him, like? Was Amir okay?”

“Amir was fine, love. It was just a wee surgery, he wasn’t in bad pain or anything. He was a little upset about the whole thing, ‘cos he’s sensitive, but he was back to normal in a few weeks.”

Zayn nods, but he still looks lost in thought. The front door opens, then, and a few of the house attendants toss all their luggage out onto the porch like it’s garbage.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Louis says sarcastically, as the doors are closing.

“The service at this hotel sucks,” Zayn says.

They look at each other for a moment before cracking up laughing.

Louis extends a hand to Zayn and helps him up. “We ought to get going before we get arrested for loitering or summat.”

“I’m surprised I ‘aven’t been arrested for assault yet,” Zayn says. “You could’ve jumped in, y’know. He ain’t tough, you saw how he flinched when I grabbed him. You could’ve mollywhopped him.”

“I think me mollywhopping days are behind me,” Louis says drily.

Zayn’s quiet for a moment. “We’re not trash,” he says.

“I know we aren’t.”

*

Niall’s sprawling beach house is quiet and mostly dark when they walk up to it, though Niall is expecting them. Louis swipes his watch against the biometric panel while Zayn leans on the wall next to the door, underneath a light. A moth lands in Zayn’s hair, and Louis brushes it away for him.

A moment later, they hear the security system disengage, and the door opens to reveal Niall in a bathrobe, pajama bottoms, and no shirt. His chest hair is peeking out at them.

“The fuck’s goin’ on tonight?” he demands.

“I texted you all of it,” Louis says.

“I couldn’t read it, I can’t find my glasses.”

“Well, long story short,” Louis says, and ticks events off on his fingers as he goes: “Evan’s dad insulted Amir’s, er, honor, Zayn jumped him and almost hit him, I think I told him to fuck himself or something, I can’t properly remember, I had a bit of adrenaline going. Anyway, we’ve been kicked out, we’d appreciate it if we could kip with you tonight, lad. Evan and Amir, too.”

Niall stares at them in dismay. “Can’t anything ever be normal with you two?”

“No,” Louis says.

Zayn snaps his fingers. “D’you know what,” he says to Louis, “we probably shouldn’t’ve smoked that weed.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right,” Louis says, laughing. “I don’t think that helped anythin’.”

Niall inhales deeply and exhales slowly.

“How’s Jamie’s face?” Louis says.

“He’s fine,” Niall says. “Nose isn’t broken. Come in, I already put a kettle on.”

They follow him inside and into the kitchen. Louis yawns, which makes Zayn yawn, too.

Niall and Winnie’s kitchen is even more gorgeous at nighttime, with massive floor to ceiling windows that overlook the dark beach. A full moon is spilling over the dark ocean, making it glow.

“Where’s the missus?” Louis chirps, taking a seat at the island for the second time that day.

“Watching a movie with Jamie in the den,” Niall says from the counter, taking the shrieking kettle off the stove and pouring its contents into two mugs. “I was watching it with them. Keyword ‘was’.”

“Oh, poor Niall,” Louis says, feeling bad. “Look, go back and join them, alright? I need to give the boys a ring and let them know what happened, anyway, and then we’re going to need to, er, have a bit of a talk, so don’t mind us. We’re just crashing, you haven’t got to entertain us like guests.”

“You sure?” Niall says, bringing them their tea and then heading back to the fridge to grab the milk. “I don’t mind.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I do,” Niall admits, “but I was going to pretend not to, to be polite.”

“Go away,” Zayn says, his tone light. “Fuck off. I’m in a bad mood, you don’t want to be around me anyway.”

“Bad boy from Bradford,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Niall says, grinning. He pours his own mug of tea and then heads out of the kitchen, back down the hallway.

*

Evan and Amir have a nice dinner at Nighthawk, but Evan is quiet the entire time, staring off into the distance. Amir feels antsy in their roped-off section. He feels like people are looking at them, whether or not they actually are.

They pick listlessly at their dinner, putting away at least half of a cocktail for every bite of food they eat. By the time they’ve put the meal on Carter’s running tab and left the table, squeezing through the growing line of people waiting to be seated upstairs, they’re both pretty drunk.

“What’s wrong?” Amir says once they’re in an Uber, heading to Ostrich.

Evan stretches his legs out and tips his head up, sighing through his nose. The colorful dash console of the self-driving car is reflected in his light eyes. “I told my dad I don’t want to sign the postnup.”

“And?”

“He said he’ll cut me out of his will if I don’t.”

“Oh,” Amir says, feeling acutely responsible.

“I don’t even care,” Evan says. “I don’t care anymore, legit. I’m so sick of being manipulated and told what to do. I don’t even want to take a board seat, I’d just be doing it for him and Rachel. Who gives a shit if we lose the company? I almost hope we do. Fuck it.”

“I don’t think you mean that, dude.”

“I do!” Evan says, his voice rising. “Fuck it, honestly! I’m gonna tell Rachel tonight, y’know — fuck him, I don’t care. That’s her and Henry’s business now. I don’t give a fuck.”

“You can sign the postnup, seriously. I don’t care, I have my own money.”

“Amir, you don’t get it. _I_ don’t want to sign it. It doesn’t even matter if you do, no offense. It’s disrespectful to you, and to me. I don’t care if you’re fine with my dad disrespecting us, ‘cos I’m not.”

Amir inhales. His head is swimming from multiple Long Island iced teas. “Okay, chill,” he says. “Let’s just drop it.”

They pull up to Ostrich in silence and disembark. It’s a madhouse compared to Nighthawk, with a line going halfway down the block and the club pounding with music. Evan and Amir easily bypass the line, their inborn sense of being VIP guests guiding them both.

Upstairs, Rachel and her friends are filling a roped-off VIP booth with chaos. They already got bottle service, and Amir can tell right off the bat that they’re slobbering drunk. He loves when women are slobbering drunk — they’re so nice to him. Plus, he’s tipsy, Evan is being cold and distant, and the club is throbbing with bass, so he’s desperate for sexual attention wherever he can get it.

He sidles up next to Rachel’s friend Candace in the booth, and she starts cooing over him, offering him shots. Evan goes over to talk to Rachel, presumably about family stuff. Amir can barely see their faces in the dim lighting, but they both look stern.

“Amir,” Candace says, cuddling up to him so she’s half in his lap. “You’re so pretty. Hi. So my ex-boyfriend is here…” She points across the balcony at a guy in another booth. That one’s full of guys who look like finance bros. “You’re famous, right? I keep seeing you trend on Twitter.”

“I’m a little famous,” Amir says.

“Okay. Good. Can you help me make Corey jealous? I really wanna make him jealous.”

Candace is stroking his hair now, which feels nice, even though she’s a pushy alpha and is kind of giving him the creeps. Evan is walking away from their table with his phone to his ear, not paying attention to any of this.

“Okay,” Amir agrees.

“Me too,” Rachel’s other friend Kaia says, cuddling up to Amir on his other side. “My ex Chase is over there.”

“He’s not your ex! You barely dated!” Candace exclaims.

“Whatever.” Kaia kisses Amir on the cheek.

“Amir, I’m gonna laugh really loud, and you — you pretend like you said something funny, okay?” Candace slurs, reaching for her vodka soda to take another sip of it.

“I can just say something that’s actually funny,” Amir says, offended. “I’m a funny person.”

Candace and Kaia start cackling on cue. To Amir’s amazement, several of the guys from the finance bros table actually do shoot furtive looks at them in response to this. Amir attempts to look like he’s trying to get laid, or at least like he’s in some way enjoying being in a pile of hot Stanford women.

He has a few more shots to loosen up, and he’s started getting so into the performance — asking Kaia and Candace douchebaggy questions about their childhoods that he ignores the answers to, bragging about his musical prowess — that he doesn’t even realize for a moment that Evan has returned.

Evan, standing over them, clears his throat.

“Oh, hey,” Amir says, glancing up and wiping a lipstick print off his cheek. “Where’d you go?”

“We need to go,” Evan says. His voice is clipped in a way that’s scary. Amir never hears him this angry.

“What’s up?” Amir says, squinting at his face through the dim, strobing light, trying to focus his eyes despite all the alcohol he’s consumed.

“I’ll tell you in the car,” Evan says, shooting suspicious looks at Candace and Kaia.

“Uh, okay,” Amir says, disentangling himself and getting up.

“Wait, don’t go,” Candace cries, running her fingers down his forearm and grabbing his hand.

Evan’s arm shoots out, and he brings his hand down powerfully on Candace’s wrist in a slicing motion, knocking her away before yanking Amir to him. Candace yelps and snatches her hand back as if burned.

“Evan!” she cries, pouting.

“Evan, hey,” Amir says, laughing. “What’s up?”

Evan ignores him and turns to Rachel, pointing a finger at her. “Stay the fuck out of my life,” he bellows.

Amir’s mouth falls open. “Whoa, whoa! Evan!”

Rachel stares up at Evan, her face impassive. “Stop making a scene,” she says.

“ _You know what you did!_ ”

“Evan, all I’ve been doing is trying to help you.”

“Stop!” Evan cries. “If that’s your help, I don’t want it! Leave me the fuck alone!”

He grabs Amir’s hand and starts dragging him away toward the stairs. 

“Evan, Evan,” Amir says, trying to keep up with him instead of just being pulled along, but it’s hard because Evan is three inches taller than him and walking as fast as he can. “What the fuck? What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” Evan shouts over the music.

Amir follows him numbly, trying to stay on his feet despite all the alcohol he’s consumed and the speed with which Evan is moving. A self-driving Uber is already idling in the street with its hazards on, waiting for them, while impatient Montauk traffic zips around it. Evan opens Amir’s door for him and pushes him in, then slides in beside him.

Amir stares at the GPS map lighting up the dashboard. “Where are we going?”

“Niall’s,” Evan says.

“Why? Dude, what happened? You practically snapped Candace’s wrist.”

“You need to be careful around Candace,” Evan says. “She was joking earlier about how she thinks you’re so cute and she just wants to grab your dick to see how you’d react.”

“Oh. Gross.”

Evan takes a deep breath, then leans over, his elbows on his knees. He hangs his head down, but his sunbleached hair stays still thanks to all the product in it. “My dad brought up the abortion to your parents.”

Amir feels like he’s crashing through a sheet of ice into a freezing lake. “ _Both_ my parents?”

“Yes,” Evan says dully, without lifting his head.

“No! Fuck!”

“Yep.”

“What the fuck? Who told him?”

“Rachel.”

The chill in his bones deepens. “No way.”

“I mean, it has to be. She’s the only person I told.”

“You’re fucking kidding. Can we not trust _anyone_?”

Evan shakes his head, and Amir is suddenly filled with pity for him. He scoots closer to Evan and wraps his arms around him, caging him protectively.

“Louis told me Zayn grabbed my dad and threatened him, ‘cos he was talking shit about you,” Evan mutters. “And then my dad kicked them out, so they went to Niall’s. He also asked me if I told anyone I was arguing with you after we got married, and I said yeah, Rachel. And he said we might want to consider that she’s the one who leaked to _People_ about us. I didn’t want to believe it, I thought someone in the house just heard me on the phone, but I’m thinking maybe it was her.”

Amir’s head spins as he tries to digest all this information.

“Louis kept saying she probably convinced herself she was doing it to protect me,” Evan says. “I don’t give a shit either way, I hate her. I hate all of them.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“Evan…”

“Stop,” Evan says, his voice hard. “Stop trying to make me feel better, ‘cause you can’t.”

Amir falls quiet, stroking Evan’s hair. “Okay.”

He doesn’t say it, because it would be selfish to turn the conversation on himself when Evan is so distraught, but he’s realizing something: the Stewarts will never accept him as family. Rachel has joined them in circling the wagons, with Amir on the outside.

*

Zayn has mostly calmed down by the time Amir and Evan’s taxi pulls up, although rage flares in his chest again at the sight of Amir’s arm around Evan’s waist.

“What are we doing?” he says under his breath to Louis, as their son approaches up the pea gravel path. “What’s the game plan?”

“We’re just gonna talk to them, Zayn. Honestly, they might want to just go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“They’re not sleeping in the same bed.”

“They’re married!”

“I don’t give a shit,” Zayn says. “Put Evan outside in a dog kennel or summat.”

“Zayn…”

“I’m kidding,” Zayn says.

Louis gives him a disbelieving look; Zayn smiles at him in response.

“Hey,” Amir calls from about ten feet away, distancing himself from Evan as they step into the glow of the porch lights. He folds his arms across his chest, and looks at Louis instead of Zayn.

Evan looks at no one, he just stares into middle distance.

“C’mere,” Louis says, beckoning Amir. “Go inside. Get some water. How much have you two been drinking?”

Amir and Evan exchange a glance.

“A lot,” Amir admits.

“Two glasses of water,” Louis says. “And take a paracetamol, we have a flight in the morning.”

“A what?” Amir says.

“A Tylenol,” Zayn says.

Amir makes eye contact with him for the first time. His face is stricken with fear as he does, but all Zayn can think about is how much Amir looks like him. This thought must soften his face, because Amir’s expression eases.

“Go inside,” he echoes Louis, and gestures behind him with his thumb. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Did you really hit Evan’s dad?” Amir says, setting one foot on the bottom stair, still looking a little uneasy.

“No,” Zayn says. “I almost did. I wish I had.”

“I wish you had, too,” Evan mutters.

“Water and Tylenol,” Louis says again, beckoning the boys like a mother goose. “C’mon. Go inside.”

Amir heads up the stairs and past them into the house, but Evan lingers in the gravel, kicking little rocks with his shoe. He seems even more drunk than Amir.

“I think I’m gonna go for a walk on the beach,” he says, glancing up at them. “I’ll be back.”

“Evan,” Louis says, “lad, come on. You’re not in your right head, right now. Come inside.”

“Let him take a walk if he wants,” Zayn counters. “You aren’t his mum.”

Louis snaps his gaze over to Zayn, looking pissed, and Evan takes advantage of this moment to start wandering away through the backyard until he finds his footing on the path to the beach. Louis calls after him, but he doesn’t turn around. They can hear his flip flops slapping against the wood as his figure recedes from view.

“I’m gonna go after him,” Louis fusses. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’ll go,” Zayn says, because if Louis goes after Evan, then he’ll be left alone with Amir, and he doesn’t know how to talk to Amir now that there’s an abortion hanging in the air between them.

“You sure?”

Zayn nods. “I fancy a walk,” he says, and heads off in the direction Evan left in.

It’s chilly on the beach, and Zayn doesn’t spot Evan right away. He wanders down to the water and starts walking, with the ocean on his right and the sand on his left, and walks until he sees a young man standing knee-deep in the water, his hands in his hair.

“Yo,” Zayn calls, and does a low whistle. “Sup? You alright?”

Evan turns and drops his hands. “Yeah,” he says, sounding unsure of himself, like he thinks Zayn is maybe about to beat his ass.

“Not gonna drown yourself?”

He chokes out a laugh. “No, I wasn’t gonna drown myself.”

Zayn shrugs, and he’s about to walk away, but Evan’s phone starts ringing.

Evan must not have his watch and earpiece on him, because he digs it out of his pocket and brings it to his ear. “Fuck you,” he shouts into the receiver.

Zayn starts in surprise. He’s never heard this kid be anything but neutrally cheerful.

“I don’t care,” Evan says, sounding ragged. “I don’t care about Henry, I don’t care about the company. You sold me out. You should have known how I’d feel about this. I’m hanging — no, for real, I’m hanging up! Bye!”

He slams his thumb against his phone, hesitates for a moment, then whips it powerfully into the ocean. It sails over the waves and drops in with a _bloop_ sound. Zayn stares at the surface of the water. The tide goes out, then comes back in.

“I’m done,” Evan screams at the sea as it crashes on the dark beach. “I’m so sick of them. I wanna be done with all of them!”

“So be done with them,” Zayn says.

Evan turns, breathing heavily. “What?”

“Do it. Cut your family off. Who gives a shit?”

Evan sniffs. “Aren't you supposed to tell me, like, I shouldn’t make any big decisions right now?”

“What do I care if you make a big decision right now?” Zayn says. “You’re a grown man.”

The air coming off of the water is frigid, and Evan looks like he’s shivering. Zayn doesn’t offer him his jacket, because then _he_ would be cold, and anyway, it’s the kid’s fault he ran out here all hysterical without his jacket.

“They’ll cut me off,” Evan says.

“So then you’re cut off! Doesn’t seem like you’re really, er, _cut on_ right now to begin with, yeah? Your dad keeps you on tenterhooks a bit, all the time? So you cut _him_ off. Once and for all.”

Evan’s teeth start chattering. Zayn sighs in deep annoyance and shrugs his jacket off, throwing it to Evan.

He takes it and puts it on, then shoots a glance at Zayn. “Why did you come after me? You don’t even like me.”

“No, I don’t much,” Zayn admits.

“I never understood why not,” Evan says. He sounds pretty drunk. “I’ve always been respectful to you. I was always afraid of you.”

“I don’t much like you living in my son’s apartment, apparently impregnating him and paying for his abortions,” Zayn says, staring him down.

Evan ducks his gaze. “It was only one abortion.”

“Oh, only _one_ abortion! _Alhamdulillah_!”

“I just didn’t think you were that conservative.”

“About my kids, I am.”

“What were we supposed to do, though? Keep the baby and get married? I told him I’d do that if he wanted. He always wanted to have an abortion.”

“No, I wouldn’t want that,” Zayn says quickly. “You dragging down his future like that, I’d have killed you.”

Evan bends forward and laces his hands against the back of his head, as if to appease Zayn by exposing his neck. “Look, man, I love your son. I’m — I’m not perfect, I’m stupid, I do a lot of shit wrong, but I love Amir, I do.”

“I get that.”

“And I might be giving up my whole life to be with him.”

“Don’t do that,” Zayn warns. “Don’t think of it like that. You didn’t want any of this shit, anyway. Amir’s just the excuse you’re using to get out of it.”

“He’s not,” Evan insists.

“Well, either way. You’re twenty-two. We’ll see.”

“I’m not going to hurt him, if that’s what you think. I’m not gonna —“ Evan breaks off, sounding uncomfortable suddenly. “I’m not gonna hurt him.”

Zayn stares up at the large, glowing moon for a moment, and then something clicks into place in his brain. “You know, don’t you?” he says, tensing against the cold breeze and dragging in a lungful of salt air.

“Know what?”

“You know I cheated on Louis. Amir told you.”

Evan hesitates, then nods.

“Great.”

“I think I’m the only person he told.”

Zayn snorts.

“I just want you to know I’m not that kind of guy,” Evan says.

“What kind of guy? The sort you think I am?”

“I don’t really know what kind of guy you are, I just mean I’m not the cheating kind.”

Zayn takes a seat on the beach. A moment later, Evan pulls his feet squelchily up from the wet sand and follows suit.

“You don’t exactly know that you’re that kind of guy ahead of time,” Zayn says, half in defense of himself and half in warning. “It often comes as a bit of a nasty surprise. Like I said, you’re twenty-two. You don’t know who you are yet.”

“I know I wouldn’t cheat on Amir,” Evan says, his voice heated. “I honestly worry about him cheating on _me_.”

“You probably should.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“I’m only giving you facts, mate. He’s a few pegs better looking than you, and he gets restless like I do. On top of that, you’ve married this sort of person at twenty-two.”

“I have something that other people don’t. I actually know him, and love him. All those other people, they just want to fuck him or use him.”

At this, Zayn feels a stab of pain deep in his gut. “You’d be surprised how tempting that can be,” he says.

Evan’s quiet for a while. “So, what, I can’t count on anybody?” he says, his voice rough.

“No, you can’t,” Zayn replies. “That’s just how life is. The sooner you learn that, the better off you are.” He gets up, brushing sand off his pants, and pats Evan on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go. I’m sure my son’s wondering where the fuck you’ve gone.”

Evan sniffs again. “Do you hate me?”

“For what?”

“For the abortion.”

“No, I don’t hate you,” Zayn says. “Your dad’s a right prick, though, I hate him a bit.”

“Yeah, same,” Evan says, and gets to his feet.

They walk along the sand in silence for a while, listening to the waves lap the beach.

“I’m not like him,” Evan says, his voice so quiet that Zayn can barely hear him over the ocean. “I’m like my mom. I take after her side of the family, she always says.”

“They around?” Zayn says. “Maybe you’ve got more people than you think you do.”

“No,” Evan says. “She’s an only child, and her parents died in a plane crash when I was little.”

“Christ,” Zayn says, taking a drag off his vape. “That’s a pisser.”

Evan doesn’t say anything else.

*

Louis has just started voicing some worry by the time Evan and Zayn show back up, their shoes clicking on the wooden path. Amir, who was already worried, springs up off the porch, his heart lifting in relief.

“Dude, what happened?” he says, his eyes searching Evan’s face. “Rachel keeps texting me, she says your line went dead or something.”

Evan takes in a deep breath.

“He threw his phone in the ocean,” Zayn says.

Amir and Louis exchange a look.

“Why’d you let him do that?” Louis says, ashing the cigarette he’s been smoking.

“The fuck?” Zayn says. “I’m to stop that? I only went to make sure he didn’t kill himself.”

Evan sputters out a laugh. “I’m not gonna _kill_ myself.”

“Well, he’s in your custody now,” Zayn says, stepping into the soft glow of the porch light and climbing the steps, heading for the door. “I’m going to bed.”

“Niall says we’re in the bedroom with the shells on the door,” Louis calls to him over his shoulder. “Second one the left.”

Zayn presumably hears him, but doesn’t bother responding. Amir shoots him a look as he walks by, but his father doesn’t look up, which stings.

Evan goes to Amir and gives him a kiss on the head, then sits beside Louis on the porch steps. Louis wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Evan hesitates before leaning into him, resting his face in the crook of Louis’ neck.

“You’re alright,” Louis murmurs to him, petting his hair.

“I don’t want to be a Stewart anymore,” Evan says.

“You can be a Tomlinson if you like,” Louis says. “Not a very exclusive club.”

Evan laughs breathily. “Thank you,” he says, sounding emotional. “Like, for everything.”

“Oh, lad,” Louis says. “Not at all. You’re family.”

Everyone’s quiet for a moment.

“I just talked to your mum, by the way,” Louis says. “I rang her just to let her know what happened. She had gone to bed after your dad started in.”

“What’d she say?” Evan says quietly.

“She said she’s sorry and to text her when you’ve the chance. If you can.”

“My watch is in my bag,” Evan says.

“Does it still work if your phone is fried?” Amir says.

“I think so. On Verizon, anyway.”

Louis nods. “Why don’t you two go to bed?”

Amir looks at Evan, who glances up and nods. He extends his hand to him, and Evan takes it, letting Amir pull him to his feet.

Winnie and Niall are engrossed in their movie, so they send Jamie to escort Amir and Evan upstairs. He goes happily — he thinks they’re both so cool, just by virtue of being in their twenties. He chatters to them about video games all the way to their guest bedroom, keeps chattering as he goes in the linen closet to fetch them towels, and follows them into the room, still talking.

“Jamie,” Amir finally says, after Evan has collapsed on the bed with his arm thrown over his eyes like he’s Elizabeth Taylor in a movie, “listen, we have to go to bed.”

“Okay,” Jamie says, still smiling, unperturbed. “Are you guys staying for breakfast?”

“Maybe. Our flight’s at ten.”

“Ten’s late! I get up at six. I’ll wake you guys up. G’night!” he calls, pulling the door shut behind him.

Evan groans. “What did he just say?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Amir sits down next to Evan on the bed and pets his hair. “Go to sleep.”

Evan lifts his arm slightly and cuts a nervous glance at Amir. “Do we have to talk?”

“Talk about what?”

“Like, married people talk. About tonight.”

That sounds exhausting. Amir wonders if married people are really expected to sit around and debrief with each other at length every time something shitty happens. He knows Liam and Louis do that, but he always thought they were just weird. “Not _now_ ,” he says. “Maybe on the plane?”

Evan nods, looking relieved. “Okay.”

“You should go to sleep. I wanna go check on my parents. Are you good if I go?”

Evan stares up at the ceiling, then nods. More than anything he seems exhausted — the kind of exhausted you get after a long cry.

“I’ll be right back,” Amir assures him.

“Okay.”

Amir slips off the bed and heads down the hall, finding the door that has a few seashells glued to it and knocking.

“Wassup?” Zayn calls.

“It’s me,” Amir calls back, feeling nervous.

“Come in.”

Amir does. Louis is nowhere to be seen, and Zayn is sitting on the rightmost of the two beds, the remote in his hand, staring at the TV mounted on the wall beside Amir.

“Everything’s golf,” Zayn says, without looking at him.

“Baba?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you mad at me?”

Zayn tosses the remote to the side and flicks his gaze over to Amir. “No,” he says.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. C’mere.”

Amir hesitates before going over to his dad, who wraps him up in a hug immediately. Amir bends into his shoulder, letting out a sigh.

“We all make mistakes,” Zayn murmurs to him. “Don’t let this bullshit get to you. It means nothing. You’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

This isn’t as comforting as Zayn probably thinks it is. Mostly it makes Amir nervous.

“Where’s Dad?” he says, drawing back.

“In the bathroom,” Zayn says. “On the phone with Oli.” He mutes the television, and now Amir can hear muffled talking through the door to the en-suite.

“Oh,” Amir says. “About what?”

Zayn shrugs. “Liam? You? I dunno, I’m not the telephone operator.”

“What’s a telephone operator?”

“Never mind. You want to wait up for him, or you want to go to bed?”

Amir considers his options. On one hand, talking to Louis always makes him feel better. On the other hand, his head is spinning a little bit, and he’s so tired his eyes hurt.

“Bed,” he says.

When he gets back to his own room, Evan is fast asleep. Amir crawls into bed next to him, and Evan lets out a soft sigh, reaching out for Amir instinctively. Amir snuggles into his shoulder and presses a kiss to the bare skin of his bicep.

VAIL, AUGUST 27, 2039

Schenkman spends so much time warning Sunday and John not to get their hopes up, that by the time Ceci has started to come out of the induced coma, neither of them are allowing themselves to expect anything.

Sunday mostly just stares at her phone, trying to quell her anxiety by reading articles about event rider scandals while nurses flurry in and out of the room, checking Ceci’s vitals. John keeps going for walks around the hospital, seemingly unable to stay seated.

“She’s grabbing my hand on command,” one nurse whispers to Sunday around 8:30 a.m. “And she keeps opening her eyes. That’s a good sign.”

Sunday stares at her mother, whose eyes are currently closed, though she has a death grip on the nurse’s hand.

“But she could still be a vegetable?” she says flatly.

“Well.” The nurse hesitates. “We don’t know.”

Sunday goes back to looking at her phone. She wants to text Mia, who she left behind at the hotel so she could sleep in, but she doesn’t know what she would say. She doesn’t want to text Liam or Louis or Julio or anyone else until she has some definite news.

An hour drags by interminably. The minutes either tick away with agonizing slowness or slip by like ice on the surface of a river — it takes hours for it to go from 8:57 to 9:00, but then it’s 9:21 in the blink of an eye.

Sunday is so engrossed in her phone that she physically starts when she hears a voice. She glances up; the room is empty except for her.

She looks at Ceci, who makes another noise: a soft groan.

Sunday gets up from her chair and walks over to her mother, her heart thumping. “Mom?”

Ceci groans again. Sunday takes her hand, and Ceci squeezes it. Then her eyes flutter open.

“Mom,” Sunday whispers. “It’s me.”

Ceci stares at her, as if she isn’t recognizing her. “Sunday?” she says.

“Yes! Yeah, it’s me, Sunday.”

Ceci squints. “Cap,” she says.

“Cap?”

Ceci lifts a shaky hand to point at her, and Sunday realizes she means the baseball cap she’s wearing. She stole it from Max’s room before she left California, to wear on her way into the hospital so she doesn’t get spotted by the paparazzi who have been hot on the trail of her mother’s hospitalization.

“You look like a boy,” Ceci says, slurring. “When you hide your hair like that. You have beautiful hair. Why would you go around like a boy?”

Sunday collapses into her mother’s shoulder in relief, hugging her. “Mom,” she cries, hot tears gathering in her eyes.

Ceci pats her clumsily. “What are you crying about?” she says, sounding annoyed.

“Oh, Mom...”

*

Louis is in the air watching a shitty movie with Zayn when Liam texts him. He lifts his head off of his neck pillow and squints at his phone — he’s so hungover that he had turned the brightness way down so it wouldn’t hurt his eyes.

_Sunday just texted me that Ceci is up and talking,_ Liam says. _Seems like she’s going to be alright_

Louis lets out a deep sigh of relief. Zayn, engrossed in the movie, doesn’t notice. _Thank god,_ he texts back.

_Listen, I want to fly out to Colorado and visit her in the hospital if thats alright with you. Mostly I want to go to see Sunday, but…_

_No, I think you should visit Ceci_ , Louis says. _If you want to._

_I do. Can you come too?_

_sorry?_

_Can you come with me?_ Liam says. _Or meet me there, maybe? I was thinking about getting a flight as soon as I can. Now, maybe._

_Sure,_ Louis says, wincing internally about the idea of getting off a plane and getting directly back onto a plane. _I can follow you there. Amir and Evan can stay behind with the boys._

_That sounds perfect. Thank you_

_Np_

Louis wants to text Liam a bunch of things — that he loves him, that he wants to know if he’s alright, that he’s angry with him — but he decides to do the mature thing and put his phone away. They can talk in person.

SACRAMENTO, AUGUST 27, 2039

Max is FaceTiming with Caroline in the dining room and working on his homework when he hears Patrick walk into the kitchen. He glances up at him; Patrick is rummaging through the freezer.

“I’ll be right back,” he says to Caroline, and pauses the call before getting up.

Patrick is tearing open a bag of pizza rolls and dumping them into a bowl when Max walks up behind him and wraps him up in a wrestling hold, tossing him onto the floor.

“Oh, fuck you,” Patrick complains as Max pins him onto the marble floor and puts him in an arm triangle choke. “I’m hungry! Fuck off!”

“I’m in charge while Dads is gone and until Amir gets here,” Max says. “So you’re gonna listen to me.”

“Didn’t he just text that they’re on their way from the airport? You have like fifteen minutes of being in charge.”

“Shut up. I’m older, too, so you have to listen.”

“You’re _two minutes_ older,” Patrick argues, struggling in his grip.

“Whatever, then you have to listen ‘cos I’m bigger than you.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, but relents. “What do you want?”

“I want you to stop being an asshole,” Max says. “I’m sorry you feel like you feel, okay? But nobody hates you, dude! That’s so stupid for you to think. Everyone loves you, they all think you’re so funny and smart. And I do, too.”

“Gross,” Patrick says, making a face.

“Fuck off. Act normal.” Max applies more pressure to his neck until Patrick gets fed up and slaps him in the head. “I don’t want to fight with you, okay? We’re not fighting anymore. It’s stupid, I’m over it.”

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Fine. Sorry I told Dads about Caroline.”

“Yeah, that was a dick move.”

“That’s why I said sorry!”

Max releases him and gets to his feet, while Patrick stays lying on the floor, sprawled out like a starfish.

“You think I’m funny?” he says.

“Yes,” Max says, annoyed.

“Funnier than you?”

“Probably!”

“Okay.” Patrick bounces to his feet with surprisingly balletic reflexes. “Good.”

Max grabs the bag of pizza rolls and dumps the rest of them into the bowl. “I want some of these, too.”

“You’re gonna eat the whole bowl.”

“Then let’s make two bags,” Max suggests.

“I like how you think.”

“Yeah, I’m a fucking genius.”

“You wanna play Darkcraft?” Patrick says, smiling.

Max thinks about his paused call with Caroline, and his unfinished homework, and his lousy grades. Then he realizes that’s the exact kind of thing Patrick wants him to stop worrying so much about.

“Sure,” he says. He’ll text Caroline and apologize for hanging up, though. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.

VAIL, AUGUST 27, 2039

It’s late afternoon by the time Louis finally breathes fresh air again, although it’s fairly thin air, since he’s up in the mountains now. As he walks into the airy lobby of the hospital, he realizes he has no idea where to go. Liam told him to come to the ICU, but he isn’t sure which floor that’s on, or if there’s a visitor list he’s supposed to be on, or something.

He stops mid-stride and starts looking around for a directory, but while he’s doing that, he hears a voice: “Dad! Dad.”

Louis turns around and sees Mia a few feet away, looking exactly as disheveled as he is. He seizes her for a hug as soon as she’s close enough.

“Hi,” Mia says into his shoulder. “Fun week we’re having.”

Louis laughs and kisses her on the head. “Isn’t it?”

“How was the Hamptons?”

“Oh, awful. Absolute dog piss. I’m surprised your father didn’t off himself.”

“That’s about what I expected. Is he on his way back to Malibu?”

“Yeah, he’s on the train.” Louis lets her go. “Where’s Liam and Sunday?”

Mia jerks her thumb skyward. “Upstairs, fifth floor. I’ll show you.”

Louis follows behind her as she starts leading him past a row of massive plastic plants, on her way to a bank of elevators tucked into a hallway. “So… Er…”

“Liam seems okay,” Mia says, answering the question he didn’t ask. “But he’s still kind of out of it, I think. And he hasn’t gone in to see her, yet, he’s just been sitting with Sunday.”

“Oh.”

“And he keeps asking for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah, he kept asking me to check on your flight, then check on your Uber, all that. He actually sent me down here to wait for you.”

Louis falls quiet, relieved and heartened.

They stop in front of the elevator buttons, and Mia presses the up one, then turns to him and says conspiratorially, “He’s really not _trying_ to be a dick, I know he’s not. He just doesn’t know how to handle this. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

Louis laughs and squeezes her shoulder. “Thank you, Mum.”

Mia rolls her eyes and gets a little pink. “I’m just saying!”

“I know, I appreciate it.”

“He just loves you so much that he feels guilty about it. I think it’s kind of romantic, actually. I wish anyone loved me that much.”

“I love you that much!”

“A significant other, Dad.”

“Well, you need to keep putting yourself out there.”

The elevator comes, and Mia hurries into it, begging him, “Please don’t start with that again.”

“I’m just saying,” Louis says, following her in and pressing five. “Either Aya is the love of your life, and you should go chase her down and try to make her see reason, or she’s not, and you should stop moping around and get back on the horse. Either way.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It really sort of _is_ simple, love.”

“I’m not moping,” Mia mutters.

“You’ve been moping a bit.”

“Dad!”

“So how’s Sunday?” Louis says, glancing over at her.

Mia shrugs. “I think she’s okay. She seems relieved, mostly. But I think she was really going through it over this, she just doesn’t know how to talk about it.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Her family’s so fucked up,” Mia says, shaking her head. “Like, her mom’s side. It’s crazy.”

“She’s got us, though.”

“She does. She said it was nice of Amir to call.” Mia gives him a sidelong glance. “You made him do that, right?”

“Yeah, nearly had to put a gun to his head over it.”

“Ha, I figured. She said he was sweet about it, though, he actually made her feel better.”

Louis smiles. “Did he really?”

“Yeah! It’s funny, he’s like, all grown up.”

“He is,” Louis admits.

*

They find Liam and Sunday sitting in a waiting area by Ceci’s room. Liam is reading a magazine, and Sunday is sleeping — but when she hears them walk up, she jerks awake.

“Hi sweetheart,” Louis says to her.

Sunday leaps out of her chair and rushes over to him, pulling him into a hug. Louis squeezes her tight, petting the back of her head.

“Thank you for coming,” she says, sounding tearful.

“Of course…”

Liam gets up and comes over to them, wrapping them both up into a hug. Louis frees a hand and cups it to Liam’s face, stroking his cheek; Liam turns his head and kisses Louis on his wrist.

A moment later, another pair of arms wraps around the three of them.

“Sorry, I felt left out,” Mia says.

They all laugh and welcome her into the hug.

Louis is so relieved to be reunited with his people that he barely realizes it when Sunday and Mia extricate themselves, leaving him alone in Liam’s arms. Liam hugs him tighter, kissing him on the head. Louis feels a hot surge of annoyance and reaches up to twist Liam’s nipple.

“Ow!” Liam exclaims.

“Fuck is wrong with you, then?” Louis demands. “Why’ve you been so mean to me the past few days?”

“I haven’t been mean!”

“You’ve been short with me, and I’ve barely been able to get you on the phone!”

“I’m sorry, I was upset!”

“I’m your husband!”

“I know!” Liam says, letting go of him and looking at him with big puppy eyes. “I’m sorry.”

All of Louis’ anger evaporates, though he’s still a little hurt and annoyed. “Don’t do that again,” he warns, and twists Liam’s other nipple.

“Fucking ow! Louis!” Liam hugs his arms protectively over his chest. “I just wanted to see you in person, that’s all! I missed you! I didn’t know how to talk to you about this shit over the phone!”

“Well then, next time _say_ that!”

“Next time? Next time my ex-wife is in a coma?”

They look at each other and start laughing. Louis has missed hearing Liam’s laugh.

“Are you guys done?” Sunday interrupts. She’s stretching her hamstrings on the chair next to the one Mia is sitting in; Mia has picked up the copy of _Men’s Health_ that Liam discarded and is reading it leisurely, like Louis and Liam loudly arguing in public is too commonplace to even pay attention to. “Do we want to maybe get out of here?”

Liam hesitates. “I’d like to go see your mum,” he says. “I mean, it’s why I came all the way out here.”

Mia looks over the top of her magazine. “Yeah, why are we all here, anyway?” she says.

“Moral support,” Louis says.

Sunday takes a deep breath, then sighs. “I’d like to see her again before we leave,” she says. “I have some stuff I want to say.”

Liam nods and clears his throat. “I’ll go in now, then,” he says, and rubs his hands together, then pauses. “Christ, why am I nervous?”

“Don’t be, she’s a lot less scary when she’s lying down,” Sunday says.

Liam laughs in an anxious sort of way.

“Want me to walk you over?” Louis says. When Liam hesitates again, he adds drily: “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t spot me.”

Liam wraps an arm around his shoulders, and they head around the corner together, stopping outside Ceci’s room. The glass door is open, but the curtain is pulled shut. Louis lingers behind while Liam peeks his head in.

“John?” he says. “Could I get a moment alone with her, mate?”

John says something affirmative that Louis can’t quite hear, and then the curtain swishes, and he appears. Liam seems to steel himself for a moment, then disappears behind the curtain.

Louis stands there awkwardly while John cleans his glasses on the hem of his sweater. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” John says. It’s obvious he’s been crying, which makes things even more awkward.

“Alright then?”

John seems to take a second to process this, then nods. “I’m doing well,” he says. “Yourself?”

“Aye, I’m good.” Louis makes it through ten more seconds of agonizing silence before jerking his thumb over his shoulder and saying, “I’m gonna, uh…”

John nods again. “Good seeing you,” he says.

“Yep,” Louis says as he rounds the corner in haste. He’s going so fast that he runs into Sunday, who was headed in the opposite direction. “Oh, shit, sorry love,” he says, grabbing her shoulders to keep her upright.

“That’s okay,” Sunday says. “Did Dad go in?”

“Yeah, he did.”

Sunday nods. “I, uh... I want to talk to her, but I don’t know what to say,” she says. Her eyes glitter with tears again, and she blinks them back. “I don’t want things to be the way they are anymore, but she has to be the one to change. There’s nothing else I can do.”

“I know.”

“Well, should I ask her to change? Or should I just assume she won’t?”

Louis hesitates. “There’s no harm in asking,” he says. “I just want you to be prepared for the possibility that things might not work out, or that she might make a promise she won’t end up keeping.”

Sunday nods again, then sniffles.

“Listen, protect your heart as much as you can,” Louis says. “I don’t want you to have to get cynical. Not at your age.”

She laughs tearfully. “I think I already am.”

“No, no. You aren’t. That’s why this hurts you so much.”

More tears well in her eyes, and Louis brings her in for another hug. Without saying anything, they walk over to Ceci’s room together. He keeps an arm around Sunday’s shoulder, even despite John’s presence, because he can tell she needs him there and doesn’t want him to leave. After the last few days, he’s full of a protective rage about his kids that he wears like a physical shield.

It’s a few moments before the curtain swishes and Liam walks out, looking sobered, but neither upset nor angry.

“You should go in,” he tells Sunday. “She wants to see you.”

“Okay,” Sunday says, and sniffs again. Her feet don’t move, though, so Louis guides her to the curtain and pushes it open for her, then eases her into the room.

She takes it from there, walking over to the armchair that’s sat beside Ceci’s bed. Ceci looks up at Louis and makes eye contact with him. Her head is heavily bandaged, and she has two black eyes, but she seems as alert as ever.

Louis inclines his head to her out of respect. To his surprise, she nods back at him. He pulls the curtain shut behind him and returns to Liam’s side.

“What did you say?” he says under his breath.

John must hear this, because he decides at that moment to start whistling and head down the hall toward a bank of vending machines.

Liam waits until he’s about fifteen feet away from them, then shrugs. “I just said I’m very glad she’s alright, and I’m sorry that we haven’t been able to see eye-to-eye on so many things over the years. She said she’s sorry about that too. Then we just talked about Sunday.”

“What about her?”

“I said she’s an adult now and Ceci has to understand that they’ll only have a relationship if Ceci stops trying to control her. And Ceci said she doesn’t feel like she has any other way to be a parent to her.”

Louis is quiet.

“So, y’know,” Liam says quietly. “I said, she doesn’t need a parent, she’s in her twenties, she’s already been parented. And she’s been parented by me and Louis, really, ‘cos you didn’t want to do it.”

Louis looks up at him, his heart hot in his chest. “You said that?”

Liam nods and gnaws at his bottom lip.

“What did she say back?”

“Nothing, really, just rolled her eyes. But I said, like, ‘you don’t have to be her parent anymore, but if you want to be in her life, you have to be her family. You’ll always be her mum, no one can take that from you, so if you want to be family to her, you can be, but it’s up to you and how you decide to act. She wants to feel like you love her and will be there for her, and be interested in her life, that’s all.’ And she thought about it and said maybe I had a point.”

“Wow.”

“I know. Maybe it’s just the high from like, almost dying, and being on morphine, and shit. But…” Liam shrugs.

“Almost dying can change people,” Louis says.

“It can. Sometimes.”

Louis reaches down and takes Liam’s hand in his, squeezing it. Liam squeezes him back.

“I really am sorry for being a dick,” Liam says.

“I was worried about you, mate, I really was. And Max said you were up all night drinking…”

Liam groans. “Bit of a snitch, that Max.”

Louis laughs. “I know, but wouldn’t you want to know if it was me?”

“I suppose.” Liam’s quiet. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Really, I thought you were so busy you wouldn’t even notice.”

“Payno, I was crying me eyes out all day yesterday.”

“Nooo! Were you really?”

“Yes! I was gutted! I thought you hated me!”

“I honestly sometimes don’t even realize you like me that much,” Liam admits.

“I’ve fucking married you, haven’t I?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Louis hits him in the stomach. “Wanker, honestly.”

“I feel terrible,” Liam says. “I just couldn’t think about anything, y’know? My head was full of this, like, black fog. It only lifted when Sunday told me she’d woken up. I just kept thinking, like, I’ve ruined my daughter’s life, she’s never going to forgive me for estranging her from her mum, now.”

“Oh, Liam, she’d never feel that way. And it isn’t your fault she’s estranged.”

“I know,” Liam says, squeezing Louis’ hand.

“Isn’t _mine_ , either,” Louis says, a bit pointedly.

“I know, love, I do. I’m sorry. It’s just complicated, and I hate complicated.”

“I know you do.”

“You’re very good at complicated,” Liam frets. “I wish you could give me some of that. And I’ll give you some simple, so your brain isn’t so much in knots all the time.”

“I dunno about _knots_ ,” Louis says, somewhat offended. “We don’t need to do that, anyway, we married each other for that reason. It’s called a partnership. You just have to actually talk to me for it to work, numpty.”

“I know I do.”

“Even when your brain’s full of black fog.”

“Well, don’t run away to the Hamptons, then,” Liam retorts.

“Alright, fine — next time your ex-wife gets in a coma, I’ll psychically predict it so I can avoid being in the Hamptons when it happens.”

Liam laughs, and they’re quiet for a moment, staring at the closed curtain, listening to the distant hospital sounds coming from the nurse’s station behind them.

“How was it out there, by the way?” Liam says.

“Oh, absolute fuckin’ nightmare,” Louis says. “I’ll save the whole story for the flight back. But Evan and Amir are going to be staying with us for a bit while they look for a place to live, if that’s alright wiv you.”

“Perfectly fine with me. Hey, we’ll have eight people in the house, maybe we can play some footie.”

Louis smiles at him.

“How are they doing?” Liam says. “Amir and Evan?”

Louis shrugs. “I think they’re just taking things in their stride. They seem glad to have each other.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is, yeah.”

Liam squeezes his hand again. “Speaking of… Max has a girlfriend, apparently. Paddy ratted him out.”

“Yeah, he texted me about that,” Louis says. “I already reckoned he might, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s always smiling at his phone lately. Never seen him smile at his phone before.”

“Well, we have to yell at him for it,” Liam says regretfully. “Paddy’s gonna think we favor him if we don’t.”

“Yell at him for having a girlfriend? I’m gonna have a hard time keepin’ a straight face.”

“I know.”

MALIBU, AUGUST 27, 2039

“I’m home,” Zayn shouts as soon as he gets in the door, setting his suitcase down and abandoning it. He sets his bag of In-N-Out trash on the grand table in the entryway, next to the vase of fresh cut flowers that’s always there.

Harry has their gardener take care of that. Zayn’s never seen a wilted or dead flower in that vase once since they moved in here, even when Harry’s been gone for months at a time working, and even when he was deep in depression from his miscarriages and couldn’t get out of bed. He envies Harry his stiff upper lip, that ability he has to always carry on and attend to the details.

“Yo,” he yells again.

“Living room,” Harry shouts back.

Zayn moves deeper into the house, toward the living room, which is currently in disarray from their remodel. He steps over a plastic bin full of books and heads toward the couch, where Marlena and Toni are watching TV with Harry.

“Dad!” Toni says, jumping up. Marlena, who looked to be dozing off, follows suit. They run over and hug him.

Zayn squeezes them tight, not wanting to take this for granted — his older kids rarely hug him like this anymore. “Hi hi. No camp today?”

“I thought you’d want them here when you got home,” Harry says, sitting up and stretching with his arms over his head. “How was the train from Sacramento?”

“Fine,” Zayn says.

“Good enough to justify not flying?”

“Egh, yeah. Way too much flying this past week. Plus the view’s nice, and I had time to finally finish that book you gave me.”

“Yeah?”

“Bummer ending,” Zayn says, releasing the girls, who seem bored by their adult talk and run off into the hallway, in the direction of the kitchen. “If you’re getting fruit snacks, bring me one,” he shouts after them.

“Okay!” Toni yells back.

Harry smiles. “I thought it was a bittersweet ending.”

“It was a bummer.” Zayn comes over to his husband and leans over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Hi.”

“So how are things?” Harry says in a quiet voice, studying him. “Everyone alright? Amir alright? Liam?”

“Uh,” Zayn says, taking a seat next to him on the couch. Harry swivels on his bum and stretches his legs out across Zayn’s lap. “Amir’s fine. His boyfr — his _husband_ is sorta goin’ through it, I guess. I think his sister leaked on him to the rags and blew his spot with their dad, so.”

“Jesus, that’s awful.”

“Yeah… and then Liam, er, I dunno. Fine, I guess.”

“Is Ceci not dead?” Harry prods.

“Oh, no, she’s alright,” Zayn says. “Louis got a text on the plane.”

“Well, what ended up happening?”

Zayn shrugs. “I didn’t ask that many questions, mate.”

“I mean, I’d like to text Liam, and I’d like to at least pretend I know what’s going on.”

“Just say, like, hey, how are you?”

“‘ _Hey, how are you’_?”

“Yeah. ‘How’s things?’ Whatever. Text Louis and ask him, then. I dunno, I don’t care.” Zayn yawns. “What are we doing for dinner?”

“How do you not care at all?” Harry says, laughing.

“‘Cos she’s fine!”

“Yeah, but this is a big deal, Zayn! It’s all over the Internet and everything, it’s the top story on TMZ right now.”

Zayn sags against the couch with a sigh. “Wot, are you upset ‘cos you fancied her?”

“What? No!”

“You can admit it if you did. I saw that movie you did, you two were all over each other.”

“We were _acting_ ,” Harry cries, laughing.

“I mean, she’s fit.”

“Zayn, I’m concerned about Liam, my friend of like, thirty years, and I’m concerned about his daughter, ‘cos she’s a sweet girl.”

“You should call Lou, then,” Zayn says. “I thought you two were friends again. Texting and shit.”

Harry shrugs. “We haven’t talked much lately. He’s been a bit cold ever since I brought Jeff to Amir’s performance.”

“He’ll get over it,” Zayn says. “Send him some cookies.”

“Cookies,” Harry repeats, and narrows his eyes like he’s taking this suggestion completely seriously. “Hmm. What kind?”

“So you were bored without me here, I’m guessing,” Zayn says, laughing.

“Why do you say that?”

“I dunno, you’ve gone into problem-solving mode.”

“Well, I’ve solved all the girls’ problems already,” Harry says. “Or I tried, anyway. I dunno. I know you’re always saying they just want us to listen to them, but I can’t really listen without, like, doing something about what I’m listening to.”

Zayn nods. “What have you thrown money at today, then?”

Harry laughs and pinches him on the ribs. “Stop it. I’ve hired Marlena a voice coach, ‘cos she’s concerned about her stutter. It’s Belinda, you remember her, I used to work with her.”

“Is Lena stuttering again?”

“Not that I’ve heard, but she said she did during acting class. And Toni was in a fight with her friend Petra, but I smoothed that over for them, I talked to her mum.”

“Hmm,” Zayn says.

“What?” Harry tickles him a little; Zayn laughs and bats his hand away. “I thought you’d be happy to come home and be able to relax.”

“I am,” Zayn says. “Thanks. I was just sort of thinking, y’know, if you want to go back to working more, that’s fine with me.”

Harry stops trying to tickle him and folds his arms across his chest. “It’s fine,” he repeats.

“Yeah.”

“Why’s it fine?”

Zayn meets his eyes; he looks annoyed, or maybe hurt, and his gaze is averted.

“Babe, I thought that’s what you wanted,” Zayn says. “Look, it’s fine. You only started taking it easy ‘cos I relapsed.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“Well, I’m fine now, and it was never meant to be a permanent situation anyway.”

A muscle twitches in Harry’s jaw. “Do you not think I do a good job with them?”

“Who, the girls? ‘Course you do, Christ. That isn’t what I’m saying. I just, y’know.” Zayn sighs. “My other kids… I wish I’d been more steady with them. I was there a lot, but I feel like maybe I wasn’t always _there_ , y’know what I mean? And me and Louis had to split time, all that, I feel like they weren’t supervised that great at this sort of formative age, the age the girls are right now. Y’know, we were busy with two little kids then, and so were Louis and Liam, and I feel like there’s some shit I was supposed to instill in them as a father that, like, I didn’t? And they’re both struggling a bit as adults, and I sort of feel responsible.”

“Zayn, I don’t think that’s true,” Harry says, softening. “I think they’re doing really well, actually.”

Zayn doesn’t know how to express what he’s trying to say without being able to tell Harry that Amir got an abortion at nineteen and hid it from him. “Maybe,” he mutters. “I just feel like, y’know, with the girls, they haven’t got to split time between houses, I can devote all my attention to them, so I should. And you can do as much as you want, but if you want to do less of that and go back to working more, that's fine. That’s all I was saying.”

“I just feel like I miss so much when I’m not here,” Harry says.

“But you’re bored,” Zayn murmurs. “I can tell you are. I don’t want to bore you.”

“You don’t bore me!” Harry exclaims, sounding frustrated. “I just want to do it all, it’s not fair that I can’t. I should be able to be shooting a movie and working on an album and come home and tuck the girls in at night, why can’t I? What’s the point of life if I can’t do that? It’s not fair.”

“You ‘ave to sleep at some point,” Zayn says.

“No, I don’t! I’m so sick of sleeping. If I could never sleep again, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Look, I don’t want you to not get what you want, and then resent me about it.”

“I won’t resent you,” Harry says, reaching up to stroke his hair. “I’m afraid you’ll resent _me_.”

“Sort of seems like there’s no way for us to both get what we want, though.”

Harry lets out a deep sigh. “Maybe it’ll be easier when they grow up and move out.”

“That’s at least six years away, mate.”

Harry says nothing, just cuddles closer to him and rests his face in the crook of Zayn’s neck. Zayn pets his hair.

“We’ll work it out,” he mutters.

Harry lifts his head to kiss him on the jaw.

SACRAMENTO, AUGUST 27, 2039

Sunday is more exhausted than she thought possible when she steps through the front door at 5 p.m. She’s used to physical exhaustion, but this exhaustion is emotional, mental. It takes ages for her to form thoughts, and when she does they’re slippery like eels.

“We’re home,” she shouts. Behind her, Mia is still on the front porch, kicking the lingering rock salt from Vail off of her boots. Louis and Liam are unloading the car, or maybe they’re kissing and pretending to unload the car.

She hears nails skittering on the floors, and Goose comes running in out of nowhere, jumping on her excitedly. She kneels to pet him, even though Patrick says you’re not supposed to reward dogs when they jump or they’ll keep jumping forever. She doesn’t even know where he got that information — Patrick is full of dubiously sourced wisdom.

As if he was summoned by her thinking about him, Patrick rounds the corner then, with Max hot on his heels. They both shout at seeing Sunday and then run to tackle her, knocking her back on the floor in a hug.

“Hi,” Max says. “We missed you.”

“I missed you guys too,” Sunday says, once she’s able to breathe again.

Patrick immediately gets bored of the hug and leaps nimbly to his feet, starting to tease Goose. Max helps Sunday up and gives her another hug, vertically this time.

“So everything’s okay?” he says, pulling back and searching her face.

Sunday nods. “For now.”

Max smiles brightly at her. “Cool.”

Amir and Evan appear from an upstairs hallway and start grandly descending the staircase. Amir shoves aside Max, who’s about as tall as he is now, and gives Sunday his own hug. “Hi,” he says. “How was your flight?”

“Good,” Mia says from behind them, and suddenly her arms are wrapping around Sunday too. “They had Sprite, for once.”

“How was the Hamptons?” Sunday says. “Not good, I get the impression?”

“It was horrendous,” Amir says, in his most dramatic tone. “Ghastly. A Shakespearean tragedy.”

“Which one?” Evan says, laughing.

“Titus Andronicus, which you never read, because you are a loser who only read the ones the school assigned us to read.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll cop to that, you school sweat,” Evan says, rolling his eyes. “Hi Sunday. Hi Mia.”

“Hi Evan,” they chorus.

Louis and Liam bustle in the front door, then, their entrance punctuated by Louis exclaiming in annoyance: “Thanks for all the help with this heavy fookin’ luggage, healthy young people! Thank you for making your ex-smoker dad who’s just been on tour for months carry in all this heavy shit!” He then drops several suitcases onto the foyer floor. It sounds like something breaks in one of them, but no one seems very concerned about this.

“What’s wrong with Liam, is he not healthy and young?” Mia says.

“He was born dead!”

“It’s true,” Liam affirms. “I do agree I’m young, though, thanks Mims.”

“You’re not young,” Louis says, going over to roughhouse with the twins, who submit happily to him tousling their hair and smacking them on the backs.

“Younger than you,” Liam retorts, putting his hands on his hips. “If I’m not young, neither are you!”

“If it gets me out of carrying shit, I am absolutely not young,” Louis says. “I am ancient, and crumbling before your very eyes. God, we’ve got a lot of people in the house right now, haven’t we? Fuck are we going to do about dinner?”

“Sorry,” Evan says, seemingly reflexively.

“Evan, please don’t apologize, I’d sooner kick out my own children than you,” Louis says. “They’re far less polite to me. But the dinner conversation is exhausting even when it’s just the four of us.”

“Pizza,” Max says.

“We always do pizza,” Liam objects.

“Exactly, don’t fuck with perfection,” Amir says, letting go of Sunday. That was probably the longest hug they’ve had in years.

“No fuck in front of the boys,” Louis says, “they’ll think it’s alright for —“

Max and Patrick begin a chorus of “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck” that’s so perfunctory that they almost sound bored.

“Stop that,” Liam bellows at them. “Or I’ll order from my vegetarian place, I’ll make you all eat sprout sandwiches.”

“Excuse me, I don’t want botulism,” Mia says.

“What’s _botchylism_?” Max says.

Mia ignores this. “We have a bunch of biryani left, anyway.”

“I don’t eat lamb as a matter of political principle,” Amir says.

“Then don’t eat,” Mia tells him. They stick their tongues out at each other, then their middle fingers.

“I do want pizza though, actually,” Louis says. “Maybe we can put the biryani on the pizza.”

Mia makes a horrified face, and more arguing erupts, with Patrick just loudly saying “Pizza” at random intervals, while holding Goose in his arms so the dog can lick his face. Sunday makes eye contact with Evan, who meets her eyes and grins before moving over to her.

“I guess no one wants our opinion,” she says.

“We’re not loud enough,” Evan says. “I mean, I’m down for biryani pizza, though.”

“Yeah, that did sound kind of good.”

They watch the chaos for a moment more. Mia has taken a few steps up the staircase and is now holding a time-out signal over her head like an NFL referee, but no one is paying attention to her.

“Sorry about your family stuff,” Sunday says, glancing over at him. “I know how it is.”

Evan sighs, and for a moment she thinks she sees tears welling in his eyes. He clears his throat, and they vanish. “Thanks. I guess I just need to stop being naive about it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be cynical,” Sunday says, thinking of what Louis told her at the hospital. “Not about your own family.”

She feels kind of guilty, actually, trying to relate to Evan right now, because her conversation with her mom went better than she expected it to. Ceci couldn’t talk much — the nurse said she has a little bit of aphasia, even though her memory seems unharmed — but she listened as Sunday poured her heart out, and nodded at the right times, and held Sunday’s hand when she could no longer talk because she was crying too hard. It was all kind of a blur, but Sunday left the hospital room feeling like she had been heard, and that was all that mattered to her.

“Yeah, but life isn’t fair, right?” Evan says, sounding resigned.

“No,” Sunday agrees. “It isn’t.”


End file.
